Equinoxium
by Lisette
Summary: For the Powers That Be, the Balance is the Key and the Slayer is their tool. As such, they will do anything to restore the Balance on one world and retain it on another - no matter the cost.
1. Chapter 1

**Equinoxium: Chapter 1  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** The television series, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and all related characters and material belong to Joss Whedon and UPN. All things _The Lord of the Rings_ belong to JRR Tolkien. I claim ownership solely of the story idea - no profit will be made by this.

**Author's Note:** This story is Buffy-character-centric and starts off during the BtVS Season 7 episode "Get It Done," which is why you're going to see quite a bit of familiar dialogue. As you'll see, things are going to go quickly AU. While there will be heavy spoilers for this episode, the rest of the season will never take place in this universe. As for the LoTR side of things, this story takes place nine years after the events of Return of the King, the third book in the _Lord of the Ring_ series. As I've read all of the books, I'll be trying to stick as close to canon as I can. However, Tolkien leaves many things very vague which allows me to 'stray' a bit to fit things into my own interpretation. In addition, I want to give a huge thank you to my beta, Nightwing, for all of her hard work on this story. It wouldn't be half the story it is without her help.

**Brief Description:** BtVS/LoTR – For the Powers That Be, the Balance is the Key and the Slayer is their tool. As such, they will do anything to restore the Balance on one world and retain it on another - no matter the cost.

**Rating:** PG-13 for Language, Violent Content

* * *

**Equinoxium**

_**Equinoxium: Medieval Latin for either of the two times each year (about March 21st or September 23rd) when the sun crosses the equator and day and night are of equal length.  
- Merriam-Webster's Dictionary -**_

_The bright sun shone high above all of Arda, bathing the golden wood with her gentle, golden light as a solitary figure wended their way through the slender trunks. Stilling, one pale hand settled lightly over the bark of a tree that he had seen grow from acorn to towering oak, the long branches, laden with offerings of bright orange and reds, bent with unending grace, extending its leafy boughs towards him like the arms of a parent that welcomed home their wayward child. Smiling softly, he slowly arched his neck, his pale, golden hair cascading around slender shoulders as his brilliant blue eyes traced the heavens above, the song of the trees soothing his weary soul. Drawing a slow breath into his lungs, he closed his eyes, dark lashes shadowing pale cheeks, and allowed the song to sweep over his senses, tantalizing them with whispered words of love and peace and... danger._

_A frown pulling at his lips, his eyes slipped open as the bright blue orbs swept over the golden wood and froze upon the cloaked figure that moved as a phantom before him. Pulling his body tall and straight, he narrowed his eyes upon the stranger's turned back, the white hood hiding the creature's shadowed face as it picked its way through the forest. Reaching instinctively for his weapons, he was dismayed to find himself unarmed. Frowning, he turned and cautiously began to trail after the slight figure, his feet making no sound nor impression upon the soft leaves that blanketed the forest floor as his eyes remained locked on the stranger that caused the trees to moan in distress - a moan that became hitched and frightened as the light around him fractured and as a voice began to echo through the trees, chanting in a language that he knew not._

_Freezing, he quickly tilted back his head and looked for the sun's warm rays, and felt his veins fill with ice as the sun shuddered before it lurched to the West, revealing the full moon that had been hiding behind it in all of its dark glory. Lithe limbs growing tight with tension, he watched as the sun and the moon parted ways in the clear skies above him, the sun arcing towards the West as the moon began to slide irrevocably towards the East._

_Blue eyes lost in the heavens, it took the sharp crack of a breaking branch to remind him of the stranger that moved through the dark woods. Blond head snapping forward, he took two hurried steps towards the stranger's back as the song of the trees shifted once more until the ancient wood was crying out to him, begging him to save them from what was to come as the fell voice increased in volume, the dark twisted language grating his sensitive ears. Fair features tightening in confusion and pain, he quickly pressed the palms of his hands beneath the pointed tips as he danced across the blanketed grounds, his eyes never once leaving the cloaked figure that drifted before him._

_Which was when the first drop fell._

_Startled from his pursuit, he paused mid-step as one hand lifted from his hurting ear long enough to wipe at the moisture that had dotted his cheek. Confused, he slowly held the digits before his wide, unblinking blue eyes as he stared uncomprehendingly at the red crimson stain that wet the tips of his long, pale fingers. Slowly, he brought the stained fingers towards his lips and tentatively touched his tongue against the liquid - and gagged at the unmistakable coppery tang of blood - the blood that had fallen from the Heavens._

_Horrified, he quickly looked into the fractured sky as the sun and the moon each neared the horizon opposite one another - driving each other towards a singular celestial event. Yet even as a dark gloom settled over the once golden wood, the sky chose that moment to let loose its torrent as the liquid fell from the sky, tears of blood splattering against his skin and running in thick rivulets into his tangled hair and down his pale features. Crying out, his voice mingled with the voices of the trees as their cries turned into screams of untold agony and horror, screams that drove through his sensitive ears like sharp spikes that fractured his thoughts and sent him tumbling to his knees as the chanting voice reached a booming crescendo. Eyes pressed closed, he pressed his hands against his ears as he tipped back his head, allowing the crimson deluge to pour down his upturned face as he opened his mouth and screamed his torment aloud - and then froze as his single scream pierced the night and shattered the song of the trees, allowing a thick silence to fall upon him._

_Startled, he quickly pulled his hands from his ears as his eyes flew open, only to find that the wood had been replaced by the vast Pelennor Fields that spread out from the base of Minas Tirith of Gondor. Confused, he looked upon a world that was shrouded in shadows, the sun and the moon set at opposing points on the horizon... yet he was not alone. Slowly coming to his feet, he found himself standing between Aragorn and Gimli, his good friends dressed for battle and their faces tense and set. To either side of them stood Faramir, Imrahil, Éomer, Elladan and Elrohir. And behind them stood an army. No, more than an army. Behind he and his friends stood ready and waiting for battle the combined armies of Gondor, Belfalas, and Rohan, as well as his own elves from Ithilien, Gimli's dwarves from Aglarond, as well as the Rangers of the North that ran with Elrond's twin sons. And all were silent as they stared across the dark fields that spread out before the White City._

_Turning, he quickly cast his sharp sight across the vast fields and gasped aloud at the dim makings of a dark army that stood before them. It was an army borne out of shadows, one that he could not clearly discern their make, yet an army all the same. And by the grim countenance of his friends, he knew without doubt that it was an army that threatened all free people of Middle-earth, and therefore, his enemy._

_Suddenly, the troops around him came alive as they began to shift uneasily, their hands tightening around their weapons as their voices carried softly to one another. Curious, he turned towards the shrouded army of darkness and felt his breath hitch in his throat, as exactly half way between their army and the enemy stood the slight, cloaked figure that he had been tailing in the woods._

_"Bring it down, Legolas," Aragorn whispered as his friend turned towards him, his gray eyes as flat as steel. "Kill it. Kill it!" he hissed, his words somehow striking a memory that seemed just beyond his reach as Legolas once more went for his weapons, only to have his lean hands slide around the comforting weight of his long bow._

_With ease borne from over five centuries of experience, he quickly fit the thin shaft of an arrow to the bowstring and pulled it taut against his cheek, his eyes never straying from the cloaked figure. Then, with his next exhalation, a moment that stretched for an eternity, he released his hold and watched as his arrow flew true, soaring across the vast fields and imbedding itself in the creature's back, directly over its heart. Yet with that single strike, the unmistakable sound of a woman's voice cried out in agony as the figure stumbled in pain, the hood finally falling to the side to free a torrent of long, blonde hair that pooled around the woman's shoulders as she slumped lifelessly to the ground._

_Gasping in dismay, his bow fell from numb fingers as a lake of crimson spread from the fallen form to wash over his feet in a small wave, soaking through his leggings and drenching his skin with the warm, sticky fluid. Shaking his head, he took a tentative step forward, his heart hammering in his chest as for an ageless moment, he realized the horror of what he had done - a moment that was shattered by the cheers of his allies, the dismayed shrieks of his enemies, and the bright, blasting light of the sun as it shunned the moon and rocketed into the sky above him, bathing their world with blessed light and fully illuminating the lake that spread before him... the lake of blood._

* * *

The moonlight was bright and fierce this night, blinding in its intensity as it shone down upon her messy blonde twist as she bent and dug into the earth before her. Too bright and too fierce, as for the first time in as many years as Buffy could remember, she wished that she didn't have the moon to light her way.

She wished that she didn't have the moon to illuminate the dark hole that was slowly opening before her like a gaping maw by her unwilling hand, as she slowly worked the shovel into the hard, unresisting earth.

She wished that she didn't have the moon to wash the shrouded body in a luminescent flare of white as she pushed the limp form into the deep hole, the girl's slender arm falling free of its tight wrappings and hanging twisted at her side.

She wished that she didn't have the moon to illustrate each and every shovelful of dirt as she packed the brown earth on top of the unbelievably small form, pressing it down in a smothering wave that she remembered far too well.

Panting, twin streaks of tears trailing down pale cheeks, Buffy looked at her finished work with haunted green eyes as she angrily threw the accursed shovel to the side. If this was the fate that the Powers That Be had seen fit to set out for their slayer, their Chosen One, then they were even crueler than she had ever imagined. To come home to find a young girl, one of the Potentials that had come to her for protection, hanging by a bed sheet in a bedroom in her own house... it was another example of the hell that had become her life.

Buffy couldn't remember the last time that she had truly felt at peace. While it was such a simple thing for so many others, it was something that had been stolen from her years ago. Oh, she had been offered glimpses and snatches of it along the way, like when she and Dawn had crawled out of that hole last spring, only to realize that for the first time since she had been brought back, she not only wanted to live in this world, but she wanted to show Dawn everything that it had to offer. She had even come so close to feeling that peace in the moment before she had sacrificed herself for Dawn in their fight against Glory, when she had realized that she was finally going to be able to stop and rest. There was even that day at the beach even before that, before her mother had ever gotten sick... that one perfect day before they had even realized Glory existed... before Dawn existed. There had been so many chances and so many glimpses of peace - of perfect absolution. But never bliss. Never that peaceful bliss.

As Buffy bent to retrieve the dirty shovel, she couldn't help the dark twist of her lips as she once more silently cursed the fate that had been handed to her. For even when presented with a bit of happiness, there had always been something dark and twisted that had forever been lying beneath the surface, pulling at some part of her awareness and tainting even the most perfect of moments. And she knew exactly what it was that caused that darkness, for in the end, she knew that she hadn't experienced a single moment of perfect bliss in over seven years - not since before she had been called as the Slayer.

Turning, the petite blonde began the slow walk back towards her crowded house - a house that would be somber and filled with terrified and hurting girls that would inevitably look to her for assurances. But not just girls. No, there would also be her friends, her mentor, and her sister... all looking to her for answers that she no longer had. Perhaps answers that she never had. She was only twenty-two years old - more girl than woman. How did anyone expect her to lead an army? Especially an army of confused and frightened girls?

In a way, it was so easy for Angel. They all knew the last time that he had last experienced his moment of perfect, blissful happiness - a moment when the rest of the world had melted away - and the price for that moment had been his soul. Yet even though the cost had been unimaginable, at least he had been offered that one perfect moment. Deep down, Buffy knew that as the Slayer, she would never again be offered such a moment of peace. For as the slayer, nothing truly existed outside of the death and destruction. It always came back to the fight, and now they faced a fight that was truly beyond them all.

They faced Evil itself.

Was it even possible to defeat something that called itself the First Evil? Was it possible to really, truly defeat Evil? And if they couldn't ever defeat Evil, if they could never vanquish their foe... what was the point of fighting? They were fighting something so intense and so frightening that her own troops, those that she was to be protecting, would rather die by their own hand than the hand of their enemy. And that, she realized, as the backdoor finally came into view, was the real crux of the problem. For these girls were coming to her for protection and instead they were dying - and Buffy was powerless to stop it... to stop them. How did she save those that didn't want to be saved?

Stilling with one foot planted on the porch and the other resting on the stair behind her, black skirt parted around her long black boots, Buffy slowly shook her head as the enormous weight of it all pushed upon her small shoulders. For so long she had been a soldier who looked to her watcher as her commander, as her leader who always had all of the answers. But now... now they all looked to her for the answers, including Giles - when he was even there. After all, her watcher hadn't been seen in days. He wasn't there when they had found Chloe's body, the young potential hanging by a noose in one of the bedrooms. He wasn't there when Buffy had given the order to cut the young girl down. And he certainly hadn't been there when she alone had borne the girl's dead weight as she took her into a field to bury her with the others. He hadn't been there because apparently now it was her weight to carry - and to be honest, she was sick of it.

The house was quiet, dark, and filled with shadows as she slipped through the backdoor, dirty shovel in hand as an angry flush burned her pale cheeks. Turning, the slayer moved stiffly through the familiar house on silent feet, her eyes peeling back the layers of darkness and allowing her to navigate the shadowed hallway like one born into darkness. An idea that didn't seem too far from the truth. Barely twenty-two years old, and yet she was a veteran of the night. Seven years spent prowling the darkness in order to keep the world from harm. Seven years of pain, turmoil and sacrifice... and for what?

The Powers That Be had given her an army, alright. An army of frightened girls, a watcher that was barely ever there, a powerful witch afraid to use her own magic, an ensouled vampire that was half-crazy because of a past that he couldn't control, a bitter ex-vengeance demon who had grown a semblance of a conscience, a school principal with personal demons a plenty, a carpenter who had been fighting the fight for as long as she, a kid sister that didn't even exist two years ago, and a nerd that had been used to kill his best friend. Oh yeah - she was quite sure that the First Evil was quaking in whatever non-corporeal form it took next. These were her soldiers in the war against an Evil that predated everything.

_"You think you can fight me? I'm not a demon, little girl. I am something that you can't even conceive. The First Evil. Beyond sin, beyond death. I am the thing the darkness fears. You'll never see me, but I am everywhere. Every being, every thought, every drop of hate-"_

_"Alright, I get it," a much younger Buffy cut in as she glowered at the apparition. "You're evil. Do we have to chat about it all day?"_

_Smiling, the First Evil slowly twisted Jenny Calendar's lips in a small smile. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."_

_"Lemme guess. Is it... evil?"_

How innocent she had been then... how inexperienced and untrained. That day someone had saved Angel from stepping into the sun as they hid the fiery orb beneath a blanket of snow, and that day she had foolishly pushed aside all thoughts of the First Evil as she reveled in Angel's cool hand in hers. Because of that naiveté they had all been unprepared for when the First Evil began to slowly kill off innocent girls around the world, linked only by the smallest of chances that someday they could be called as the next slayer. And now those innocent girls had come to her for protection and to help in the fight.

They had come to her as sacrificial lambs for the slaughter.

Slipping into the crowded living room, Buffy allowed her eyes to wander over the desolate faces of the spattering of Potentials that were tucked into every stray corner, to gaze upon the grieving faces of her friends and allies - and instead saw that simple white funeral shroud as it slowly disappeared beneath a mound of dirt. And in that moment, Buffy's resolve broke as she felt her furious anger explode as she threw the shovel onto the floor before her, small clumps of dirt falling free and spraying the dark carpet.

"Anyone want to say a few words about Chloe?" she asked, her voice ringing in the quiet room, the tear-stained eyes of her friends and allies instinctively turning towards her for guidance. When no one answered, Buffy's eyes narrowed as she took a slow step forward, her black skirt swirling around her lean frame. "Let me," she stated as she leveled her eyes upon them. "Chloe was an idiot," she hissed, the silence deepening as her troops looked at her in shock. "Chloe was stupid, she was weak, and anyone in a rush to be the next dead body I bury, it's easy. Just think of Chloe and do what she did, and I'll find room for you next to her and Annabelle," Buffy stated, her voice as hard as steel. "I'm the slayer, the one with the power, and the First has me using that power to dig our graves," she continued, slowly shaking her head from side to side as a loose strand of hair fell free of its twist. "I've been carrying you - all of you - too far, too long. Ride's over."

"Buffy!"

Turning, the small slayer allowed her furious gaze to fall upon her Watcher's aged frame from where he leaned against the mantle place, idly wondering when he had showed up, even as her anger boiled over. "No, Giles, I'm through with this!" she returned, her words lashing at the man that she loved as a mentor - a father.

"We are on the verge of war," Giles cut in, his voice calm and composed in the face of her blinding anger. He pulled his glasses from his nose, only to dangle them by one hand as he wagged them in her direction. "It's time you looked at the big picture."

Eyes growing wide, Buffy could only mutely shake her head in stunned silence. Didn't he know what had happened in his absence? Hadn't anyone told him about Chloe's suicide? "All I do is look at the big picture," Buffy murmured, her anger quickly deflating as it was replaced with an icy chill that she couldn't quite place. There was something not right... something off about all of this.

As though he hadn't heard her muttered words, Giles slowly lifted the hem of his sweater and began to patiently polish the smooth glass tucked within the thin wire frames. "If you are going to be a general, you need to be able to make difficult decisions regardless of cost," he stated as he pointedly lifted his head and looked from Buffy to the others that were watching the exchange with rapt attention.

"Giles... we had this conversation already," Buffy slowly reminded him she felt the cold begin to build within her small frame. There was something wrong. Her slayer senses were whispering at her, tickling the back of her mind with warnings.

"Yes, when you told me that you wouldn't sacrifice Dawn to stop Glory from destroying the world," her watcher agreed as he replaced the glasses upon his nose, his gaze darting briefly to the young girl in question before returning to his slayer. "But things are different now, aren't they?" he persisted, his gaze growing soft as he took in the dark dirt that stained her white sweater and muddied her jean jacket. "After what you've been through, faced with the same choice now, you'd let her die."

For the briefest of moments, Buffy could only stare at her watcher in shock, not quite understanding how her loving mentor could say those words before a room full of frightened and scared girls. How he could say them before her little sister. Turning, she let her gaze slip from Giles as she looked to where Dawn was perched on the edge of the large couch. Her sister looked so young then as the tears glimmered in her large brown eyes - so young as she looked to her sister for reassurances; reassurances that Buffy no longer had the heart to give.

Two years ago Buffy had been so beaten down by the death of her mother and by the fruitless prospect of fighting a god, of suddenly being thrust into the roll of mother and protector to her sister that she had not only been willing to sacrifice everyone in order to keep her sister safe, but when that option had been cruelly taken from her, she had been eager to take that final plunge _for_ Dawn. She had been only too willing to die so that she could finally be at peace, but her friends had brought her back. They had ripped her out of Heaven in order to see this world set right, and for a time, Buffy had been convinced that she had come back wrong. Well, maybe she had really come back right. More right than ever before, because she finally understood the truth: none of them were more important than their cause. Not the girls that came to her for protection, not Dawn, not Xander, not Willow, not Spike, not Giles... and especially not Buffy herself. None of them were more important than seeing the First Evil defeated and Buffy was willing to sacrifice them all to see it done. "If I had to in order to save the world," Buffy finally murmured, her words as hollow as the thudding of her own heart as her eyes never once looked away from Dawn's red-rimmed eyes. "Yes."

"So you really do understand the difficult decisions that you'll have to make?" Giles persisted, gaining his slayer's attention as he shifted against the mantle. "That any one of us is expendable in this war?"

"Yes," Buffy returned, her voice filled with stark realization as she stared at her watcher with new eyes - eyes that wished that they didn't see the truth so clearly. The truth that was standing before her. "I get it."

"But... you said we could all get through this."

Without turning to acknowledge Andrew's hesitant plea, Buffy felt a single tear break free to drift down her cheek as the answer became so clear. "I made it up," she returned, her words as dead as her crumbling heart. "I'm making it all up. What kind of hero does that make me?"

"One that's still human."

Not expecting that answer, especially from that particular voice, Buffy turned from her watcher to meet the dark eyes of the girl that had been standing quietly near the front door, unnoticed by all. "Faith," Buffy returned, her eyes taking in the rogue slayer's tangled brown locks and the plain, unassuming clothing that she wore. "What are you-"

"Giles broke me out this afternoon - filled me in," the slayer shrugged as she stepped further into the room, her dark eyes lighting from one unfamiliar face to the other while doing her best to ignore the heated glares from the faces that she did recognize. "Figured you could all use the help... though I didn't think that you'd beat me here," Faith continued as she nodded back towards the watcher that had once more captured her attention. "Thought you were going to look for B at the school."

"I did," Giles agreed, a small smile pulling at his lips as his eyes locked on Buffy once more. "And I found her."

"How long?" Buffy returned as she finally, openly acknowledged the painful truth that her senses had been screaming at her all along.

"Just a few minutes now," Giles murmured, easily following her question while the others turned to each other in confusion. "Long enough for me to catch the tail end of your... well, I hesitate to call it a motivational speech," he explained, his smile lifting once more.

"Giles?" Willow murmured, her brow creasing as she looked between the watcher and her best friend, the tiny slayer's green eyes filled with so much sorrow and pain.

"That's not Giles," Buffy returned as another single tear burned at the corner of her eye - searing her vision as if that lone tear was trying to match the pain that mounted in her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Equinoxium: Chapter 2  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

As the red sun lifted above the far horizon, it cast its warm rays down upon the heads of the three weary travelers. Day had come only minutes before, but already the sun set about the task of removing the fell shadows from the earth and casting the world into light. For much of this world, it was a light that in past years had never been quite bright enough, the golden rays never reaching far into the thick wood that they traveled. It made no matter that Mirkwood, once known far and wide as Greenwood the Great, was once home to a mighty elven realm, for once the dark shadow had descended upon the southern reaches of the vast forest, not even the light of the elves had been enough to cast away the dark. Now, nine years since the War of the Ring in which the Dark Lord Sauron had been cast from his throne and peace had begun to reign once more, the shadows still grappled with the light. In some ways, Prince Legolas, the youngest son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood, member of the famed Fellowship of the Ring and Lord of Southern Ithilien, the last remaining bastion of the elves of Middle-earth... in some ways the prince knew that the darkness would never quite leave his beloved forest.

"My Lord?"

Sighing softly, Legolas felt his horse shift beneath him as his chin lifted, brilliant blue eyes taking in the sight of the palace that had been his home for over five hundred years - a home that was now deserted and devoid of life. It had been over nine years since he had left this palace on a mission of great importance and even greater shame. He had been tasked to travel to _Imladris_, the elven stronghold known also as Rivendell, so that he could inform Lord Elrond of his failings and of the loss of the being known as Gollum. The task was only meant to take him but a few months, but in the end he had been swept up in a journey for which the entire fate of Middle-earth had rested upon its outcome - the sole representative for all of elven kind. Once the war had ended, Legolas had returned to his father's realm only briefly, for despite the hero's welcome of his people, Aragorn, king now of Gondor, had already asked his help in restoring the forests of Ithilien to their glory. The forest had been dark and polluted by the nearness of Mordor, its song weak and mournful, and it was a challenge that Legolas had eagerly accepted. At the time, he had no idea of what he was truly beginning.

"My Lord?"

Shaking away his troubled thoughts, Legolas turned and finally acknowledged the two elves that had made the long trip with him to his father's old realm. "Peace, my friends," he stated, brushing away their wary concern as he turned his eyes back to the trees that surrounded them. A soft wind lifted his pale tresses, and Legolas smiled softly as the trees shifted and swayed beneath a cloudless blue sky. Their young prince had returned and the forest sang its welcome. For Legolas, the song was bittersweet, for he knew that he was only temporarily staying the forest's grief at the departure of the elves that had long inhabited their wood. "Go see to your tasks," he stated, gesturing to the open wood around them. "I think that we shall not have reason to tarry here, no matter what our heart's desires," he murmured, his voice dying to a whisper as the two elves shared a brief glance before nodding as one.

"As you bid, my Lord," Thoron stated before dismounting from his elven steed, releasing the animal to his own endeavors as his companion did the same.

Smiling softly, Legolas slowly slid from his mount, Sador, and landed lightly on the rich, leaf-strewn earth below. "Stray not far, my friend, for I shall have need of you soon," he murmured before releasing the beast to his own devices. His gaze drifted over the wood, once filled with the voices and song of his kin, and now silent save for the sad song of the trees of his birth.

Even before the War of the Ring, the elves of Middle-earth had already begun to drift from its shores. For some, the sea called to them and beckoned them to make haste over the waters and sail to the Undying Lands. To others, it was simply a matter of acceptance: the time of the Elves was over and the _Eldar_ were leaving these shores. It was now the Fourth Age, the age of Men, and within a few years of the war both _Imladris_ and _Lothlrien_ were deserted, the firstborn of the elven realms following Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, and later, Lord Celeborn as well, as they traveled west to the Havens and across the sea. Those that did not wish to depart stayed in the few remaining outposts of elves, tarrying in Middle-earth until whatever bound them to this place released them to their fates - to the fate of all elves. Even Legolas. In time, the only elves that remained in Middle-earth were those of his father's realm and the elves that had fallen under Legolas' unwilling rule. Yet even time could not prevent that last great realm from following their brethren.

It had always been said that the elves of Mirkwood carried a deeper connection to Middle-earth than any of their _Sindarin_ or _Noldor_ kin, yet even for his people the call of the sea could not be ignored. They stayed in Middle-earth for as long as they desired, but when King Thranduil finally heard the cry of the sea, the rest of the realm quickly followed their king. His family had stayed with him in Southern Ithilien for two months, two months in which his brothers and his father had worked relentlessly to convince him to come with them now. Having now experienced the sea-longing that tormented many of his people, they could not understand the ties that continued to bind Legolas to Middle-earth. In the end, his father had finally given his youngest son his grudging blessing. After all, father and son both knew that Legolas was merely delaying the inevitable. The sea-longing couldn't be ignored forever, and instead Legolas struggled to fight it as long as he could.

So he remained in a world in which his kind was quickly fading into myth, never aging while his mortal friends followed the heeding of their mortal bodies. In his heart, he knew that once the last of his friends gave up this life, Middle-earth could bind him no longer. He would leave these shores, as all elves faded from this world. The only question remained whether he would abandon this life and sail to the Undying Lands, rejoining his kind until the ends of time, or whether he would die from grief and travel to the Halls of Mandos where he would await the comings of his kin or the ends of the world by the side of his mother and eldest brother. His father had obviously feared the latter.

_"Legolas, you will heed your father and king! You must not ignore the callings of the sea and tarry here with these mortals. They will be your undoing. Our kind is not meant to dwell with mortals, for it is not our way. Can you survive time's irreproachable march towards its final ending? For if you cannot, then you must come with us now before it is too late for you. I will not have another of my sons fade from grief. I will not lose you."_

Sighing softly, Legolas slowly tilted his head back and allowed the sun's warm rays to caress his pale features, dappled as they were by the leafy branches that towered above him. In the end, his father had finally understood that his youngest son had truly inherited his stubbornness and could not be convinced to forsake his friends. Thus, King Thranduil had left Middle-earth, taking with him his remaining two sons and virtually every elf of the woodland realm, save his closest advisor and highest captain of his personal guard. Thoron had stayed behind and since then had made it abundantly clear that he did so on the bidding of his king. King Thranduil had acceded to his son's wishes, but he did have the final say when he bid his most trusted of warriors to remain behind as his son's keeper and guard. His own personal bodyguard.

Shaking his head ruefully, Legolas made his way into the trees that towered above him, gracefully leaping from limb to limb as the trees sensed his movements and shifted their branches to aid him. Legolas was a prince of Mirkwood, a warrior of renown and a hero known throughout Middle-earth - a Lord unto his own right - and yet his father had left him with a bodyguard. If Legolas hadn't found the idea so vastly amusing, he probably would have been irritated by his father's presumptions that he was somehow unfit to care for himself. Even now when their world celebrated a peace that this generation of man had never before seen, Thoron still shadowed Legolas' movements when outside their own woodland realm. The more mischievous side of the prince had half a mind to pay Gimli a visit on their return trip to Ithilien, if for no other reason than to test the limits of Thoron's desire to trail him. Perhaps when faced with the idea of entering a dwarven stronghold the elder elf would rethink his need to follow the price's every step.

Sighing, the young elf, a contradiction in and of itself, slowly shook his head as he paused mid-branch. Not even he was quite sure why he had made this trip to his father's realm. It had been years since he had set foot within the boundaries of Mirkwood, and even though his heart had ached for the familiar trees, his work in Ithilien had kept him far too busy to fulfill idle fantasies. As it was, Legolas didn't have the time to see as much of his dear friends as he desired - an amusing irony that wasn't lost on the immortal elf. With the remaining hobbits back in the Shire, Gimli Lord of his own realm, omer in Rohan, and Aragorn and Arwen ruling all of Gondor, Lord Faramir and the Lady owyn were the sole two companions that he was able to see the most, and that was merely because of their joint efforts in Ithilien. Then again, too many weeks of the same disturbing dream were too much for even him to ignore.

_Ilvatar_ had blessed his Firstborn children with many gifts - gifts that were unmatched in any of the other races of Arda. One such gift was the gift of foresight, as seen with Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond. However, the gift of foresight was a gift that Legolas had never before possessed... until now. While at first he had been willing to write off the dream as nothing more than that, weeks of sleep that had been interrupted by the same vision had left him shaken and filled with an ill foreboding that he could no longer ignore. All he knew was that his desire to see his home, if even for the last time, was too much to ignore.

His dreams had drawn him to Mirkwood with a pull that weighed heavily upon his mind and spirit, and while he knew that he was perfectly capable of making the long journey on his own, Thoron and Mirdan, another elf of his father's realm, had insisted upon accompanying him. As Thoron loved to point out over and over again during their long travels, despite the fall of Sauron, his evil creatures were still present, fouling their world with their dark presence and hunted by those that would oppose them. Orcs still haunted the mountains and plagued the fields of Rohan, and while weakened and hunted themselves, such foul creatures would never miss the opportunity that was presented by a sole elf riding through their midst. And rather than cause a scene, Legolas had simply accepted their offers of company.

Shaking his head, he continued to climb higher in the trees, the comforting presence of his bow and quiver lying against his back as he allowed his inner turmoil to dissipate. His reasons for coming mattered not. Instead, he intended to make the most of this brief respite from ruling an odd assortment of elves from many different realms and enjoy the quiet. With Elrond's twin sons off roaming Middle-earth together, Legolas remained the last of the _Eldar_ nobility upon Middle-earth. With this thought, the remaining elves, no matter where they originally hailed from, as such looked to him to guide them - and thus he became Lord... but here? Here amongst these familiar trees all of his titles and deeds were forgotten. Here, once more he could simply be Legolas, the youngest Prince of Mirkwood - a far easier burden to bear.

* * *

The silence that had fallen on the room at Buffy's declaration was absolute. Not Giles. The man that was standing with them wasn't Giles. It wasn't-

"I found you at the high school and you led me down into the darkness," the watcher murmured, his voice growing soft as he slowly stepped forward until he was standing a hair's breath before his slayer. "And then they came and stabbed me with a dagger while you watched," he added as his image rippled and melted until it was as though Buffy was looking into a mirror. "Just like you did to her," it continued, Buffy's own familiar lips pulling into a cruel smirk as it lifted one jean-clad arm and pointed a slender finger at the dark-haired slayer that was rooted to the floor by the couch.

"What the fuck?" Faith muttered, her eyes darting back and forth between the two Buffys as the rest of the girls scurried back from their leader and that which they had been fighting... fearing: the First Evil.

"And as his blood slowly drained onto the seal," the First continued as green eyes met green, "the only thing that he had left to say was..." she trailed off before the form stretched until Giles was once more standing before his slayer. Only this time, the watcher's lined forehead was creased and wet with perspiration, his eyes glazed as he pressed one hand against his abdomen as rivers of blood leaked past his stained fingers. "Not your fault," he gasped, his eyes locked on Buffy's stoic features. "Not your fault-" he repeated before disappearing and leaving the room in shambles.

Numb, Buffy found herself frozen in the middle of the room, her eyes seeing nothing as her mind tried to process what had just happened... as her mind tried to reconcile her heart to the fact that her watcher was dead. Giles was dead. The man that had entered her life seven years ago, mentored her, cared for and guided her... he was dead and gone forever, and the First Evil had worn the face of his beloved slayer as it bled him upon the seal... the seal that would now be open.

_They_ would be coming.

Gasping, Buffy felt everything rush back as the panicked voices of the potential slayers mixed with Dawn's muffled sobs and the cries of her friends. Everyone was turning to her, questioning her, begging her for answers as to what they should do next. Giles was dead. Giles was gone and the Big Bad's deadly and practically invincible minions had been freed by her watcher's blood. They would be coming - and yet all of it was just background noise as Buffy stared at everyone in confusion. Giles was dead. Giles was-

"Because it wasn't. It wasn't her fault. It was ours. All ours."

Forcing the other voices to fade into the background, Buffy turned on her heel, her skirt swirling about her as she focused on the sole voice that had caught her attention. Green eyes narrowing into twin slits, Buffy watched as Anya stood alone and forgotten against the wall, her hands shaking as she continued to repeat her mantra to herself, over and over again.

"Our fault. Our fault they're dead. Our fault."

In two quick strides the small slayer crossed the cluttered living room and paused only when she was standing before the ex-demon, the young woman's startled eyes lifting from her trembling hands. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice finally breaking through Anya's incessant mumblings as the taller girl tried to turn away - which was when Buffy's hold finally, truly snapped. "What do you mean?" she repeated, her voice carrying above all others as she surged forward, one hand wrapping around Anya's slender throat and snapping her back against the wall.

"Buffy! Let her go!" Xander protested as he appeared at Buffy's side, his larger hand trying to pry his ex-fiance free, only to be bodily shoved to the floor by the small slayer as she tightened her grip on the ex-demon's neck. Grunting as he plowed into a group of Potentials, Xander watched as Willow and Spike uncertainly started forward, only to quickly fall back as Faith moved in behind Buffy in a position that let everyone know in no uncertain terms that she would prevent any of them from stopping this - especially as the rogue slayer withdrew a wickedly curved knife from the waistband of her dirty blue pants.

"What are you talking about?" Buffy repeated, her voice low and icy, as her gaze remained locked on Anya's wide, unblinking eyes. "What's not my fault?"

"I can't," Anya began as she tried to still her frightened breathing, memories rising unbidden of a similar encounter between the demon and slayer only months ago... weeks ago. But that encounter had been a fight between a _demon_ and a slayer. This time was different. This time she was human and deep down, she knew that Buffy would never truly strike at a human.... she wouldn't...

...would she? "Giles made me promise that I wouldn't-"

"Giles is dead," Buffy interrupted, her voice flat and betraying none of the pain that was splitting her heart in two.

Hearing these words and feeling them like a blow to her abdomen, Faiths hand faltered as she quickly turned to her fellow slayer. She didn't know what the hell was going on here, she didn't know what that thing was that was wearing Giles' face, and she had no idea why her fellow slayer was suddenly attacking her own friends, but she did know that Buffy had never been wrong before. Buffy had never faltered and if she thought that this was the route that they needed to take, the hell if Faith was going to say otherwise. Sighing, she quickly slipped her knife into the strap at the small of her back as she gently dropped a light hand on the smaller slayer's tensed shoulder. "B, we don't know that for sure. He-"

"He'd dead," Buffy countered, ignoring the blinding turmoil that caused everything to be spinning around her far too quickly. "The First can only take the form of those who are dead," she explained, her eyes never once straying from Anya's pale features.

"Yeah, well it sure as hell didn't seem to have a problem taking yours," Faith quickly bit back, a flare of her old anger causing her short temper to simmer as Buffy finally drew her gaze away from Anya - and forced the dark-haired slayer to meet the deadest, most pain-filled eyes that she had ever seen.

"That's because I _was_ dead, remember? I was in the ground for five months," Buffy stated impassively as she pointedly turned away, dismissing the other slayer without another word. Yet before she could fully turn away, Buffy reached forward so fast that her hand was a blur as it wrapped around the hilt of Faith's knife and drew it from its sheath. Turning, she then leveled the sharp blade against the soft flesh of Anya's neck. "Tell me what you know," Buffy stated, feeling the tension in the room beginning to mount as she purposefully ignored everyone but the young woman that she was holding captive before her. The one that seemed to hold the information that she had been seeking for so long. The one who had willingly kept the knowledge from her all along.

"Y-you wouldn't," Anya stammered, her veins filling with ice as she looked into Buffy's hard eyes - the eyes of a stranger.

For a moment, Buffy felt the entire world fall away as her grip became slick on the hilt of the knife. Anya was her friend, one of the Scoobies - someone who was fighting on their side. Yet Buffy had tried to kill her just a few months back when Anya had once more become Anyanka and had unleashed her vengeance upon a house full of fraternity boys. Had the ex-demon really already forgotten the sword that Buffy had driven into her heart? Because Buffy certainly hadn't. She hadn't forgotten Anya's blood as it had stained her hands. She hadn't forgotten the resignation or the understanding that shone in the hurting girl's eyes. And she certainly hadn't forgotten how Xander had pleaded with her to see reason - to see that she was trying to destroy one of their friends. But what Xander hadn't understood was that her calling as the Slayer had truly lifted her beyond the bounds of friendship - lifted her above everything.

_"You have no idea what she's going through," Xander protested as he frantically worked to stop his best friend from destroying the woman that a part of him would never stop loving._

_"I don't care what she's going through!" Buffy protested as she pulled away from Xander, physically as well as emotionally._

_"No, of course not. You think we haven't seen all this before? The part where you just cut us all out? Just step away from everything human and act like you're the law? If you knew what I felt-"_

_"I killed Angel!" Buffy broke in, the tears shining in her green eyes. "Do you even remember that?" she asked, her voice growing soft... and then growing hard once more. "I would have given up everything I had to be with - I loved him more than I will ever love anything in this life. And I put a sword through his heart because I had to."_

_"This is different-"_

_"Its always different! It's always complicated. And at some point someone has to draw the line, and that's always going to be me. You get down on me for cutting myself off, but in the end the slayer is always cut off. There's no mystical guidebook. No all-knowing council. Human rules don't apply. There's only me. I am the law."_

She was the law, and the law was cold and impassive this night. It was hurting and it was in pain and it was unforgiving. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" Buffy whispered, her eyes softening for the briefest of moments as she slowly shook her head, her hand tightening around the hilt of the sharp knife. "None of us are so important that I wouldn't sacrifice any of us to see it done. None of us."

"Not even yourself?"

Stunned by the anger that flashed in the ex-demon's eyes, Buffy slowly released her hold on Anya's neck and backed a step away. "What-"

"Are you willing to sacrifice yourself?" Anya continued as she lifted one trembling hand to massage her bruised throat. "Because apparently that was the one person that Giles refused to sacrifice. Not again," she stated, her eyes narrowing as she pointedly stepped to the side so that she was back amongst the relative safety of the others in the room.

"What are you on about?" Spike demanded, his blue eyes flashing as he moved past Faith's stunned form until he was standing beside Buffy in a silent show of support, even as his eyes surreptitiously darted to take in her trembling form. While the crazy bint wasn't making any sense to him, or to any of the others in the room, if one could judge by their baffled expressions, it seemed as though Buffy knew what would be coming next as her face paled.

"No one ever asked us where we went the night that you fought against the Turok-Han," Anya continued, her eyes darting accusingly around the room.

"Well, we kind of had our hands full with the whole not dying," Xander retorted in the group's defense as Anya turned from the small slayer to unleash her anger upon her ex-fianc and the witch that had moved to stand beside him.

"We visited Beljoxa's Eye that night," she stated, her voice cold and hard, "and it told us that the First Evil is only able to attack the balance because there is no balance. We ruined it when we brought Buffy back. _We_ destroyed the balance and it's because of us that all this has happened!" she cried, her voice rising until it was at a fever pitch, both Xander and Willow recoiling as though they had been slapped. "Giles knew this and he made me promise not to tell anyone," she continued, the tears pooling in her eyes as she belatedly realized that it no longer mattered what Giles had made her promise. Giles was dead and she would never be able to make him another promise again.

Sighing, Anya angrily scrubbed the tears from her cheeks as she turned back to Buffy to find the small slayer standing before her with her head downcast and her shoulders sloped as though she shouldered a great weight, the wickedly-curved knife held loosely by her side. She looked defeated. "He made me promise not to tell you because he wasn't willing to lose you. Not again."

"Giles is dead," Buffy returned, her voice a lost whisper as she lifted her pale, tear-streaked face towards the ex-vengeance demon. Towards her friend.

"And are you willing to sacrifice yourself to see the balance restored?" Anya asked, repeating her earlier question as she defiantly lifted her chin.

For a moment, Buffy was utterly silent as Anya's question echoed within her mind. Was she willing to see it done? Closing her eyes, Buffy wanted to laugh aloud at the irony of it. A year ago, she would have been dancing for the chance that was now being offered to her, for a year ago, she had wanted nothing more than to return to wherever Willow and the others had torn her from. But that had been a year ago. Now, she realized with a rueful smile, all she wanted was to live. Death was inevitable and it would come for her again someday, and luck holding, she would have her chance to return to that place where only peace existed. But Buffy wasn't ready for that moment to be now. Then again, since when did she ever really have a say in her life? When did what she want ever matter?

Slowly shaking her head, Buffy turned away from the ex-demon and sought out her sister's wide hazel eyes from the sea of so many others - all those whose lives were at stake because of her existence - and with a watery smile, she had her answer. "Yes," she stated simply as she resolutely lifted the knife and drove it towards her heart, only to have the knife torn from her grasp and into Willow's outstretched hand, the redhead's eyes two liquid pools of black as both Xander and Spike tackled the small slayer to the ground.

Grunting, Buffy became lost in the moment as she wrestled with Xander and Spike on the living room floor as a swarm of potentials launched themselves at Faith and tried in vain to keep the other slayer away from Willow - and through it all, Dawn watched everything through horrified, tear-stained eyes. Everything was happening too fast and everything was becoming too jumbled. Buffy was screaming at Xander and Spike to let her go so that she could kill herself as Faith was swearing at the girls that were preventing her from getting to Willow, who was busy trying to get to Anya who was trying to hide behind Andrew. It was complete pandemonium - a roar of voices and pained grunts that echoed throughout the house and drew the attention of the other potentials that had been gathered in the basement, oblivious to the drama that was unfolding upstairs. And with each screamed plea, with each cry of pain, with each bewildered question and shouted accusation, Dawn felt everything build within her until she felt it all pour forth in an explosion of temper that she hadn't displayed in over a year. _"STOP IT! EVERYONE STOP IT!!"_

Silence descended upon the room, thick, cloying and uncomfortable as all eyes turned to the slender teen. She stood amidst it all with her hands pressed against her ears and her eyes pinched shut against the sight of her sister in a tangle of limbs on the floor before her.

Panting from her place against the living room wall, Willow shifted in Faith's fisted grip as her tired green eyes swept past Kennedy and the other potentials that were sprawled behind the slayer, until they finally located Buffy in the mess of strewn bodies. "It... it won't work that way," she panted, her voice wavering as Faith slowly began to loosen her hold on the bunched cloth of Willow's shirt. "Buffy, just take a moment to think about it. If it did, why would the First be trying to kill you at each and every opportunity?" she persisted as Faith backed off enough for her to shake free of the girl's grip. Sagging against the wall, Willow watched as Xander tentatively unwrapped his legs from around Buffy's as Spike slowly began to loosen his hold on her torso. "Killing yourself won't restore the balance."

Closing her eyes, Buffy tiredly allowed her head to fall back upon the plush carpeting beneath her before she slowly pushed herself to her feet. Feeling everyone's eyes upon her, she resolutely moved around Dawn's trembling frame, pushed through the potentials, and then gently took Faith's place before her red-haired best friend. "What will?" she asked, her question so very simple as she held her friend's gaze.

Yet instead of a response, Willow merely stood in silence. Her large green eyes filled with tears as she slowly lifted one hand and gently ran her fingers over a scratch that trailed a line of blood over Buffy's cheek. It was the blood of her best friend, the friend that she had selfishly convinced the others to help her pull out of Heaven. After all, that really was where her friend had been resting, at peace - and if Willow was completely honest with herself, she had to admit that it was where, deep down, she had always known Buffy to be.

"Willow," Buffy sighed, her hand lifting until it gently covered the one that tenderly cupped her cheek, "I was willing to let you all go this time in order to do what was right. Now you need to make things right. You know this."

For a moment more, silence settled over the room as twin trails of tears poured down Willow's pale cheeks. She had done this. She was responsible for it all. "I don't know how," she murmured, her eyes never once leaving Buffy's.

"Yes you do. You've always known."

Started for the second time that night by yet another familiar voice that had no place being there, Buffy turned and stared at the man who stood in the open archway behind her. "Whistler," she murmured, her green eyes taking in the man's familiar, gaudy suit and the large bowler hat that was perched jauntily above his thinning hair, not looking a day older than the time she had first met him close to five years ago. "What, is this an episode of 'This Is Your Life'?" she snapped. "Are any other unexpected guests going to be dropping by? Maybe my kindergarten teacher?" she continued as she turned and crossed her arms across her chest, a small scowl pulling at her lips.

"Friend of yours, B?" Faith asked as she turned narrowed eyes upon the man. "'Cause while I know that I've been out of the game for some time now, I can still tell the difference between what's human and what's not. And this guy's definitely not."

Sighing, Buffy wearily shook her head as she lifted her small hands to massage her aching head, ignoring the frightened girls that quickly scurried away from the unexpected guest. "He's not," she muttered as she finally lifted her head to glare at the small man. "Whistler's a balance demon," she stated, and when everyone continued to look to her in confusion, Buffy curtly shook her head once more. "He works for the Powers That Be to keep the balance," she explained, frowning softly. "Which just begs the question: if everything's so out of whack, why didn't you come sooner?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Whistler quickly protested as he patted his hands against the front of his pea-green suit. "The witch and the watcher were given all the clues - they just refused to put it together."

"And how many innocent girls did you let die in the meantime?" Buffy snapped, her eyes narrowing upon the little man.

"We didn't intend for it to happen this way," he countered, his words soft.

"Yeah, apparently you guys don't intend for a lot of things to happen. Yet they always seem to happen, don't they?" Buffy muttered as she tried to ignore the memories of the last time that she had seen the balance demon. The first and last time - the day that he had told her that the Powers That Be had never intended for her and Angel to fall in love... and that because of that love, they had mucked up everything and allowed Angelus' return. It was the day that he had told her to kill her lover.

Ignoring her question, Whistler nodded towards the red-headed witch. "You were right - sort of," he stated before turning back towards the petite slayer. She looked so much older than the last time they had met... so much older and worn by time and the battles that she had fought. She had come a long way. Far further than anyone had intended for her to go. "Killing Buffy would send her back to where she was, but it won't restore the balance. To do that, you three need to undo what you've done," he continued as he included the dark-haired man and the slender ex-demon in his patient gaze.

"The Urn of Osiris is broken," Willow protested. "We can't-"

"It doesn't matter," Whistler cut in. "The spell can still be done."

"But I can't control where I'd be sending her!" Willow argued as she darted a quick glance at the small slayer.

"And you won't. We will."

Startled, Buffy quickly lifted her head and stared at the balance demon, a cold feeling beginning to twist her stomach. "You'd control where I'll go?" she demanded, her tongue darting out to moisten lips that were becoming painfully dry.

Sighing, Whistler sadly looked at the small slayer as he slowly shook his head. "Sorry kid, but you died and were out of the game. You were out of our hands. But Red and her sidekicks brought you back," he explained as he shrugged his rounded shoulders. "The Powers aren't about to let one of their best warriors get away again now that they have you back. All I know is that you'll go to where you're needed. Besides that, it's outta my hands."

Eyes slipping closed, Buffy felt a tremble ripple through her small frame as her mind tried to grasp what she was being told. They had to send her away to make things better. She had off-set the balance on their world, had tipped the scale towards the side of good and the First Evil had been able to compensate as it launched a war against the line of the Slayers. And she had to go away to.. to _somewhere_ in order to restore the balance. She had to set things right.

Muscles tensing, Buffy opened her eyes and looked around her, seeing the faces of so many young, scared girls that had their watchers killed before their eyes, their families taken away, and had traveled around the world to find safety at her side. There were so many of them, and they would all die if she didn't do this. In that regard, there was no option at all. "It doesn't matter what happens to me," she stated as she pierced the short balance demon with her glare. "Will it restore the balance?"

"Yes," Whistler confirmed, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips as he watched the fiery spark return to the slayer's eyes. That spark was what made this small girl such a powerful asset to the Powers - an asset for which he had been sent down to this world to preserve for their use.

"Then let's do it," Buffy returned, her fiery gaze meeting Willows, holding her gaze - warring with it in a way that allowed no room for argument from the witch or any of her friends. The gaze lasted a moment, and then a moment more before the red-headed witch hesitantly nodded her agreement - and then the room once more slid towards chaos as Dawn's heart-rending shrieks began to echo above the din as she tried to rush towards her big sister, the potentials moving in to hold her back. Meanwhile, Willow turned to Xander and the others and began directing them to different areas of the house in order to gather the needed supplies, the young witch barking her orders as she took charge. And through it all, Buffy watched the chaos through saddened green eyes.

"Hey, you sure about this?"

Turning, Buffy smiled at the dark-haired girl that stood before her. Faith. Her sister slayer. "Thank you for everything," she murmured, ignoring Faith's concerned question as she gently took the taller girl's hand in her own.

"Hey, no big," Faith quickly demurred as she allowed her hand to be squeezed once before quickly pulling it away.

"No, it is," Buffy countered, her smile slipping as she turned to look with wide, tired eyes at the girls that rushed around them. "This won't trigger a new slayer and you're going to be all the world has. Take care of them," she whispered, her eyes slipping back to Faith's as the other girl nodded once before quickly turning away and disappearing into the throng.

"This isn't right, you know?"

Smiling, Buffy turned around once more, this time coming face to face with Spike as he glowered down at her. "None of this is right," Buffy agreed as she shrugged her small shoulders. "Which is why we need to set it right."

"S'not what I meant, and you know it," Spike argued, a small scowl twisting his handsome features.

"I know," Buffy agreed as she gently moved onto the tips of her toes and pressed a soft kiss against the cool skin of his cheek. "But it's the way it has to be. You'll remember your promise, right?" she asked as she pulled away, gently reaching a hand up to brush away the tears that were beginning to trail a path towards his chin.

"To the end of the world and back," Spike promised, his eyes turning away to look to where Dawn continued to rage against the girls that were holding her back. "The Bit will never want for nothing."

"I know," Buffy sighed, her smile faltering as she followed his gaze, her heart breaking at the frantic, terrified expression that twisted her little sister's features. "I know," she murmured as she absently squeezed Spike's arm before slowly moving forward, the Potentials parting around her and finally releasing their hold on Dawn's arms. Yet instead of surging forward, Dawn instead began to pull back as Buffy drew closer until she could go no further, her back pressed against the wall.

"I-I never told you," Dawn stammered as she tilted her head down to look at her older sister. "I-I never told you what mom said that night when she came to me," she continued as the tears streaked down her pale cheeks. "She-she said that... that when it's bad, you wouldn't choose me."

"And she was right," Buffy admitted as she gently pulled her little sister into a tight embrace. "Dawnie, I can't let the world go again," she whispered as her sister clung to her, her sobs shaking them both as Buffy gently ran her fingers through her sister's long hair. "I love you, but I can't do it again. Do you understand?"

Sniffling, Dawn slowly pulled away, her hand never quite leaving her sister's shoulder as she tried to hang on for just a little bit longer. "I-I never realized that it meant this," she admitted as she ran her hand beneath her watery nose.

Sighing, Buffy slowly drew her sister close in another bone-crushing hug as she brushed a kiss against her bowed head. "It'll be better this time," she murmured, her words low and soothing - or so she hoped. "We've had more time together. You just need to stay with the others and be good. Dawnie, you're strong now - you can do this."

"I know," Dawn murmured, and to her surprise, she meant it. Slowly pulling away, she felt the tears dry on her cheeks as she looked at her sister through puffy brown eyes. "I know," she repeated as Willow called to Buffy from across the room.

Smiling, the slayer gently squeezed her sister's shoulder before moving to Willow's side as Xander joined them. "Have everything?"

"I-I think so," Willow stammered as she frantically looked over the different magical implements that were gathered in the arms of a few potentials. "I just.. I just don't want to-"

"Hey, we need to do this," Buffy cut in as she allowed Xander to pull them both in a fierce hug - the three original Scoobies, together for the last time. "I need to go," she continued as she gently pulled away. "You guys gave me two more years, but it's time for me to leave, for good this time."

Sniffling around her tears, Willow quickly nodded her head and forced herself to turn away. "We-we just need to g-go back. To the graveyard," she explained between hitching breaths as she began shepherding the girls towards the door.

Nodding, Buffy was about to follow when Faith tugged at her arm, her expression tense as her dark eyes darted around the rapidly-emptying room. "B, I can feel something.. something's coming," she whispered as she allowed Buffy to pull her towards the door, falling into step behind the impressively large group of girls.

Eyes narrowing, Buffy nodded her agreement. "It's the Uber-Vamps," she agreed as her pace began to quicken. "They're coming - go faster."


	3. Chapter 3

**Equinoxium: Chapter 3  
by Lisette**

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

The night was dark and silent, the bright moon lighting their way as the large group picked their way through one of the many graveyards that filled the small California town - a town that had been slowly pushed towards the brink of madness for months now. Despite the group's impressively large size, the crashing of stumbling feet through dark shrubbery and the frightened murmurs of too many frightened young girls did nothing to drown out the thundering beat of Buffy's own heart. As the slayer easily loped through the darkness behind the group, Faith keeping pace beside her, each and every heeled boot that fell upon cold winter grass thumped in time with her heart as her senses desperately screamed their warning: they were coming. They were coming fast and hard and everyone was moving far too slow.

"B-" Faith gasped, her eyes darting nervously behind them.

"I know," Buffy cut in, her small shoulders tense and stiff as she vaulted over a low-standing tomb and nearly stumbled into the backs of the girls they had been tailing. Twirling quickly to the side to avoid a painful collision, Buffy threw a brief glance behind her before pushing her way through the crowd of potentials until she was standing with her sister and friends before a single tomb, their eyes locked on the memorial. Slightly out of breath, Buffy took a moment to admire the smooth granite with the simple words etched into the hard stone:

BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS  
1981 - 2001  
BELOVED SISTER  
DEVOTED FRIEND  
SHE SAVED THE WORLD  
A LOT

"I guess we should be grateful that we never bothered taking it down," Buffy stated, surprising them all with her presence as she threw her friends a weak grin.

"Yeah - good thinking on our part," Xander returned with a small frown.

"Come on, let's do this," Willow whispered as she began collecting their supplies from a few potentials and enlisted the others' help in preparing the spell.

Sighing, Buffy tiredly shook her head before turning away from her friends - and then froze as a small, unexpected smile lifted her lips at the sight that greeted her.

"Listen up," Faith stated, her clear voice ringing in the quiet graveyard as her eyes swept over the girls that uncertainly turned in her direction. "We've got something nasty heading our way and we can't let 'em get through our lines. I want you two over there, and you three..."

"She's going to do a good job, don't you think?"

The slow smile building, Buffy nodded her agreement as her eyes swept over the dark-haired slayer that was trying her best to hide the uncertainly that shone in her large brown eyes. "Yeah, she will," Buffy agreed as she tore her eyes from her sister slayer and looked upon the short man that stood beside her, his tacky green suit luminescent in the moonlit night. "Why me?" she asked, her eyes piercing his as the balance demon sighed softly.

"I truly am sorry," he stated as he eyed the slayer's friends as they frantically worked to prepare the spell that would finally set the balance right. "I was telling the truth when I said that the Powers never foresaw any of this. Just as you and Angel weren't supposed to happen, neither were you supposed to give your life for Dawn's. They didn't see that one coming and now they just need the balance restored."

Smiling wryly, Buffy shook her head as she, too, turned towards her friends. "You guys really need to get a better crystal ball," she muttered as she went to join her friends, pausing at the warm hand that gripped her jean-clad arm.

"It's time for me to go," Whistler stated as the slayer turned towards him, her green eyes filled with so much sadness at what she was being forced to leave behind for a future that was suddenly so uncertain. Sighing, he quickly shook his head. "Listen kid, while I can't tell you where you're going, I _can_ tell you that there isn't gonna be a lot in the way of shopping where you're headin', and the stuff you're wearin' now?" he broke off as he pointedly took in her long black skirt, her calf-length black boots and the white sweater and jean jacket that adorned the fashionable outfit. "Well, let's just say that it's not gonna last you long. So... well, I hope this helps," he added before he snapped his fingers, using only a small portion of the power that was his to engulf the petite slayer in a blinding light that left her in clothes far different than those that she had been wearing.

"Damn, B," Faith muttered as she turned quickly, alerted by the bright flash of light, only to freeze as she took in her fellow slayer. "You been in' my wardrobe?"

For a moment, Buffy merely stared at Faith in confusion before she slowly lowered her eyes and took in the form fitting, tan leather pants, the matching leather halter and the accommodating leather duster that completed her new wardrobe. "No, these ones actually fit... too well," she muttered in response as she threw a brief, weak grin at the taller slayer before arching a slender brow at the balance demon. "Leather?"

"Holds up better than cotton," Whistler replied with a small, nonchalant shrug. "It's more durable and should offer you better protection from all the seasons that you're going to encounter. Just trust me when I say that you'll be thanking me later, and... good luck," he added before disappearing with a flash of light that left her momentarily blinded.

"Thanks," she whispered, sighing softly as she once more took in her new attire before shrugging and moving towards her friends. The UberVamps were still coming and they were getting closer - she could feel them and they certainly didn't feel pretty. "How's it coming, Wills?" she asked as she stepped lightly beside the red-haired Wiccan.

"G-good. We're good," Willow stammered in return as she eyed their layout with a critical eye, her teeth absently worrying the soft flesh of her lower lip as she directed Xander and Anya to opposite sides of the grave as she knelt at the base, just as she had done almost a year and a half previous. "Buffy, you... you just need to.. to- what are you wearing?" she broke off as she took in the new outfit.

"Yeah, since when did you become Safari Barbie?" Xander added with a weak grin.

Smiling, Buffy waved away their questions as she gently squeezed Willow's arm. "Where do you need me, Will?"

Sighing, the redhead briefly closed her eyes before she hesitantly waved towards the grave.

For a moment, Buffy merely stared at her friend in confusion until she finally understood what she was unable to say. "Got it," the small slayer stated, forcing a smile for her friend as she stepped around her and stood over the hard-packed earth that hid an empty casket six feet below. Ignoring the chills that raced up and down her spine, she then lowered herself to the stiff grass and then laid herself out so that she was lying above her own grave - a thought that she couldn't quite force her mind around as she blinked up at the moon that towered above her, the stars glittering in the heavens above.

"Can we even do this without Tara here?" Anya whispered as she worked to light the candle that she held, cursing quietly beneath her breath as the flame refused to ignite - again.

"Tara's already here," Willow returned as Dawn hurriedly stepped forward and took the lighter from the ex-demon and lit the candle for the nervous young woman, her eyes continually skipping to her sister who was spread out before her. "I can feel her," Willow continued, a small smile lifting her lips as she passed the lighter to Xander.

"Okay, now if that isn't creepy-"

"Anya, enough," Xander cut in as he scowled at his ex-girlfriend, all the while extremely conscious that in order to do so, he had to look above Buffy's outstretched body. "You, uh... comfy Buff?"

"Quite," Buffy sighed as she wriggled on the hard ground, her head rolling to the side to flash a brief, tired smile at her favorite male Scooby.

"Well don't you need sacrificial blood and stuff?" Anya persisted as she fidgeted in her place. "Last time you went all finger painting with the blood and-"

"Not this time," Willow stated as she cut off Anya's rambling protests with a patient smile. "This is one of those cases where the borrowed magic is really going to come in handy," she added, more to herself than the others as she worked on harnessing the immense power that she now carried within her. And with one last deep breath-full of the cool night air, Willow delved into powers that she never should have touched in the first place. "Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear us."

Grimacing as a wave of power rushed through her body, Buffy felt her muscles contract and tense.

"Before time and after; before knowing and nothing; know our prayer."

Gasping now, Buffy felt the world begin to swim away as a wave of lightheadedness caused the stars to dance above her.

"Osiris! Here lies the warrior of the people! Let her cross-"

"No!" Buffy gasped as her slayer sense burned through the disorienting and dizzying waves that were crashing into her small frame. Fingernails digging into the grass at her sides, she _felt_ the wave of Turok-Hans as the UberVamps crashed into the line of Potentials that circled her grave, Faith and Spike leading the girls in a desperate fight to keep the UberVamps at bay - a line that Buffy knew they would be incapable of holding for long.

Breath tearing through lungs that were beginning to find the air thick and difficult to breathe, Buffy forced her trembling limbs to push her weight up until she was staggering to her feet. Xander seemed torn between wanting to abandon the circle in order to help the girls while Anya clearly wanted to join the small circle of newer Potentials that huddled in a group with Dawn, her little sister wielding a long sword that she brandished towards the UberVamps that were working to break through the lines. "Don't... don't stop!" Buffy ordered, her sharp words centering both Xander and Anya and directing their attention back towards Willow, the red-head's eyes two liquid pools of black as her hair began to whip in a magical wind that was entirely of her own creation. "Don't stop," she repeated as she stumbled out of the circle and nearly plowed into... herself.

Pulling up tight, Buffy forced her weakened limbs to straighten as she looked into her own green eyes, the other's lips pulled down in a cold smirk that had never before twisted Buffy's own pale features. "We're restoring the balance," she murmured as she eyed the First Evil, feeling as though she was speaking to a mirror.

"We'll see about that," the First returned, the smirk shifting until it was a smile that caused Buffy to recoil in disgust.

"We will," Buffy insisted, her voice growing hard as she turned and moved on limbs that were slowly forgetting their strength, diving into battle as Willow's voice rose in a loud chant that caused the trees to shift and moan with her words.

* * *

With an ageless grace, Legolas finally abandoned the ancient trees that filled the wood, falling silently to the forest floor in the clearing before the palace. Straightening, he moved on light feet towards the nearest trunk, one pale hand falling against the coarse bark. "Rest well, my friends," he murmured as he bid his final goodbye to the trees that he had known since birth - the ones that had provided him shelter, comfort, and passage for so many centuries. Yet even as his elven words whispered amongst the trees, he was already turning away, his sensitive hearing alerting him of the arrival of both Thoron and Mirdan as the two woodland elves dropped from the trees before him.

"Is everything set, my Lord?" Thoron asked, his tone neutral as he sketched a quick bow before him.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Legolas slowly shook his head. Even though he had lived for over five centuries as a prince in his father's realm, always adhering to the strict formalities that went with his position, the past ten years in which he had lived amongst men and mortals had stripped him of the desire for such things. The formalities that went with his position seemed so unneeded and tiresome, yet the traditions that had been driven into his kind for ages were not something that could so easily be dissuaded. Even now both elves watched him with a critical eye and it took centuries of experience to prevent Legolas from fidgeting beneath their weighty stare. They were concerned, he knew, for they had traveled a very long distance on a need that neither understood. Yet in this case, protocol aided him, as neither would ever question his decisions. Then again, after spending so many years with mortals, and especially after befriending a dwarf and naming him elf-friend, his kind always looked upon him with that same concerned air. While disconcerting, it was something that the archer was quickly becoming accustomed to.

Shaking his thoughts away, Legolas lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled for Sador, his horse appearing from the shadowed forest and trotting to his master's side. "Come my friends, it is time we...." he began, only to have his words die as the song of the trees shifted. Eyes narrowing, Legolas tipped his head back, his golden hair trailing around his shoulders and his lithe body tensing as a fierce feeling of dj vu swept over his long frame.

"My Lord?" Mirdan tentatively asked, obviously concerned as he turned questioningly towards Thoron, the older elf's dark eyes narrowed upon the prince.

But Legolas was lost to the elves concern as his senses strained, a puzzled frown pulling at his lips. There was something wrong - something terribly wrong in the forest as the song of the trees fell silent. It was as if the entire wood was tensing, eerily waiting for something. And then... slowly Legolas' sharp ears began to hear what his companions could not, his royal blood having long ago cemented his ties with Arda as his time with the Fellowship honed his elven senses to the darkness. He heard a voice, floating on the wind and chanting in a strange, dark language. He heard the voice from his dreams.

"Prince Legolas?" Thoron prompted, muscles tensing as the young prince's hand strayed towards the knives that were strapped to his waist, his eyes constantly darting around them as though searching for a foe to fight.

"There is a fell voice on the wind," Legolas murmured, his voice so low that his comrades had to strain to hear him. Yet even as the words left his lips, the chanting became louder, more persistent as the skies began to darken, clouds blotting out the bright sun as a fierce wind sprang from nowhere, tossing their hair and causing both Thoron and Mirdan to automatically reach for their own weapons. "There is great evil here," Legolas added, his eyes narrowed as a chill gripped his very soul.

* * *

Grunting, Buffy dodged the UberVamps powerful punch and lashed out with a roundhouse kick that sent it stumbling back into one of its brethren. "Hold the line!" she called, her voice vying for attention against the foreign chant that tossed their world into chaos. Stumbling as a heavy kick connected against her unprotected back, Buffy tipped towards her knees, the world spinning as she dug her fingers into the cool, moist grass as though it could somehow stabilize a reality that had taken to shifting with each and every step. Gasping, Buffy bent her chin towards her chest, her eyes clenched shut against another wave of dizziness - and yet when she opened them, it was to the sight of her hands slowly becaming less defined with every word that fell from Willow's lips.

Startled, Buffy sat back on her haunches as she lifted one hand and inspected it in the bright moonlight. It was undoubtedly her hand, the skin pale and the nails short and shaped in a graceful arc, and yet the moonlight was beginning to pass through the flesh and meat. Slowly shaking her head, she squeezed the hand into a fist, feeling the muscles tighten beneath her skin and the sharp bite of nails into her soft flesh. Yet when a girl's voice rang out in pain as a Turok-Han cut her down, Buffy forgot the liquid that was filling her lungs just as easily as she forgot her disappearing limbs. Instead, she staggered to her feet and quickly rejoined the losing battle - a warrior that was slowly beginning to fade away.

* * *

By now the wind had been whipped into a frenzy, as though stirred by the woman's echoing voice, and leaves billowed about the elves' slight forms as they struggled to remain on their feet. "To the trees - take to the trees!" Thoron bellowed as he and Mirdan jumped lithely into the branches above them.

Legolas, however, found his limbs frozen and unwilling to obey him as Sador broke free of his hold and disappeared into the forest. Slipping his knives free of their sheath, Legolas crouched low to the ground, his eyes narrowed against the hail of debris that buffeted his lean frame. Lifting an arm and pulling it against his face, he closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, freezing as his sharp sight locked on a phantom before him. Heart clenching and words locked in his throat, Legolas vaguely heard his companions calling to him as he stumbled back and fell to the ground. Wide eyes locking on the hazy figure, he watched as she became more clear with each passing second, subtle curves and long hair pulled away from her face as the figure darted around him, fighting the very air itself as she dodged and twisted, her phantom footfalls silent on the leafy grounds. Then, as though struck by a heavy force the figure fell back and towards Legolas, hurtling through the air so fast that he barely had time to even think about moving before she fell through him and to the ground behind him.

Feeling as though a cold wind had ripped through him, Legolas finally found his invisible restraints broken as he straightened and jumped gracefully into the high branches of the trees. Settling beside his two companions, the three elves watched the phantom figure as she danced around the clearing below, oblivious to them all as slowly her features began to clear.

* * *

Groaning, Buffy clutched her arm around her waist and what she was certain was at least a few broken ribs. Shaking away the dizziness that was becoming more pronounced with each passing second, she slowly rolled to the side and staggered to her feet - only to feel as though she was jumping back into the pool of energy to save Dawn from Glory as Willow's magic ripped through her form. Simultaneously she heard her scream mingle with Willow's as her legs collapsed beneath her, the magic searing her body inside and out. Her back arched with the pain and the world began to dissolve around her... until her sister's frantic scream grounded her once more. Gasping for a breath that she was coming to realize would never be fully replaced, Buffy once more forced herself to reclaim her feet as the world tipped dizzyingly around her.

_"Buffy!"_

Startled, the petite slayer turned towards her sister's frantic screams as another of the Turok-Han took advantage of her distraction and sent her crashing into a nearby tomb that was quickly reduced to a pile of granite rubble. Gasping, Buffy didn't even wait for the dust to settle as she pushed herself back to her quivering legs, her eyes darting to where Andrew and the other Potentials held her sister back as Xander and Anya struggled against whatever force held them in their places beside her grave.

"Don't... don't stop!" Buffy gasped as she staggered towards an UberVamp that was about to take a bite out of Kennedy. "Don't stop!" she shouted as she launched herself at the creature's back - and grew wide-eyed as she encountered some sort of friction that stopped the UberVamp short as she toppled through the beast and back onto the ground beside Willow's startled girlfriend.

* * *

With a scream that echoed hauntingly in the dark wood, the phantom creature fell to the ground, her back arching in a pain so intense that Legolas felt himself shying away from her haunting figure. Her cry was like an echo in the trees as the chanting grew louder until it was almost deafening to him. Yet despite the phantom's obvious pain, she slowly climbed to her feet and continued to fight her invisible demons, her movements becoming slower and more awkward until she faltered once more, her legs collapsing until she rest upon her knees.

Unable to stop himself, Legolas pushed away the restraining hands of his companions and dropped from the trees, landing lightly in a crouch before her. With narrowed gray eyes, Legolas looked into the face a young woman, decidedly of the race of Men, her features shadowed and her body small and clothed in tight leggings and a shirt that was very short and seemed to merge with her skin, a long coat trailing around her slender form. Frowning, he turned his gaze from his inspection of her strange and hazy garments until they locked on a pair of eyes that were slowly becoming more and more green until they were the sole point of color in her translucent form - eyes that looked right through him.

* * *

Body trembling, Buffy forced the liquid air through her aching lungs as her hands hung limply at her sides. The pain was excruciating as the magic wove its way through her battered form, igniting her world into flashes of color so bright that she was blinded by their intensity. Somehow she had made her way back to her grave as the world had begun to shake, the small slayer collapsing on her knees above her empty coffin as she faced Xander, his large brown eyes wide and filled with hurting tears. And then Dawn was beside Xander, the tears streaking down her face as her younger sister lifted one shaking hand and tried to put it against Buffy's cheek, only to have her trembling hand pass straight through her sister's hazy form.

"Buffy," she pleaded, her hand lifting to pass just over Buffy's features as though trying to smooth away the hurt that lined her sister's face.

"It's okay. I'm okay," Buffy panted, forcing a weak smile past the pain that was quickly filling her eyes with tears. "Just... just remember what I said," she stated as she felt the magic begin to pull her apart. "B-be brave and live... r-really live for me. We'll meet again. I p-promise," she whispered as the pain blinded her even to her sister's tear-stained face as Buffy and Willow screamed out in agony. The world was tilting around her and she was powerless to stop it as she fell back to the cold ground, her body lying in perfect harmony with the coffin that was lined below her. Wheezing now, her head tilted and rolled drunkenly to the side, her eyes sweeping past where Dawn was sobbing hysterically in Xander's arms and lighting on Spike as he fell to his knees beside Anya, his blue eyes filled with unshed tears as her friends were forced to watch her torture. And then Faith was there as well, the dark-haired slayer's blood mingling with her tears as she joined their little circle. And for that moment, for that last perfect moment, Buffy felt the pain die away as she truly smiled at her friends and family.

"Thank you," she whispered, one final time before the pain came rushing back in a blinding torrent that stole the last of her liquid breath and caused it to fall from her lips in an agonized scream that became one with Willow's and the First Evil's as everything coalesced into a light that was brighter than the sun.

* * *

As the woman's dark voice lifted and thundered around them, Legolas felt the earth begin to tremble beneath him. Startled, the elf quickly stumbled to his feet, warily backing away from the young woman who was becoming so real that the leaves littering the forest floor began to bend beneath her weight. And then, as the voice thundered around him, a bright light surrounded the girl before exploding in a backlash of magical energy that threw him to the ground before everything became silent once more.

Gasping, Legolas shakily pushed himself to his feet as Thoron and Mirdan dropped to the ground beside him, bows lifted and arrows notched against their strings, eyes never straying from the maiden that lay limp and unmoving on the ground before them. As the trio watched with wide, distrusting eyes a single leaf fell from the sky and brushed against her small hand before falling to the ground beside her.

She was real.

* * *

Blackened body trembling with a strange mixture of unease and excitement, the creature slowly tilted its head; its tangled, greasy black hair falling around its pockmarked face as it tentatively sniffed the wooded air. The darkness was gone and the hated sun was once more shining in the too-blue sky, spotted as it was beneath the large, leafy canopy of the once dark, twisted trees that towered over him and his brethren. Scarred nostrils flaring, he drank in the scent of the moldy wood, cringing as a wave of hated elf-scent clogged his sensitive nose. They were near the place that was once inhabited by Elves - the dreaded home of the Elvenking which polluted the silent wood with elf stench. Yet carried on the slow breeze came the scent of something different.

Twisted body trembling with a need that it didn't understand, the creature glanced to its companions - a small force that was spread amongst the trees. The darkness was gone and the deep, feminine voice that called out to its twisted soul had fallen silent... and yet... and yet there was something else out there that seemed to call to him, just as the moon gravitated towards the sun. There was something else out there, something that it wanted and something that it was going to have.

Turning, the orc smiled its cruel, blackened smile at its companions as it lifted its weapon, the wickedly curved blade glinting in the fractured light and drawing his troops as moths to a flame. The dark evil that had momentarily taken hold of this part of Mirkwood had called out to him and his brethren - and it was a call that they were powerless to refuse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Equinoxium: Chapter 4  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

With a soft sigh the trees stretched and groaned as they slowly settled back into their normal rhythm, peace once more falling upon the golden wood. Instantly a quiet symphony began as the wind rustled in the trees, the birds twittering as they flitted from branch to branch, and as the insects once more resumed their quiet play. Crouching before the young woman that had suddenly appeared before them, Legolas trailed his keen gaze confusedly over the petite woman, taking in her small, delicate features, the rounded tips of her ears, and the strange garments that bound her form.

"Does she live?" Mirdan asked as he narrowed his gaze over the tip of his drawn arrow, his brown eyes conveying his concern as he tried to nudge a loosened strand of chestnut from his face with the high arch of his shoulder.

"Aye, she breathes still," Legolas murmured, his hand held lightly above her parted lips as a warm rush of air tickled his skin.

"A fact that I find quite apparent," Thoron added archly as he pointedly shifted his gaze from his crouched prince to the tight leather bodice that shifted with each of the young woman's even breaths.

Suddenly a pained groan interrupted their quiet musings as the girl shifted on the ground before them, causing Legolas to dart back until he was once more standing beside his companions, his bow notched and aimed before he realized what he was doing. Yet even as his finger tensely held the taut bow string, his brow creased as his eyes swept over her petite frame and froze upon the long, golden locks that had fallen free from their bindings to trail over her pale cheeks. Instantly his nightmare flashed before his vision, creating a cacophony of shattered images of blood, the eerie twilight of the sun and moon in their war in the sky, and the same locks of pale blonde hair as they tumbled free from the restrictive hood that hid their mistress's frame - the woman that he had killed in order to save them all. Frowning, he tightened his fingers on his bow string as the arrow lowered until it was pointing at her heart.

"My Lord?" Mirdan questioned, his eyes darting to his liege.

For a moment, Legolas struggled against the nightmare that had haunted his every night for the past several weeks, and lately, even his waking moments. Imperceptivity, his fingers began to tremble against the thin string that held the stranger's life in the balance, his mind caught in a battle of wills between dreams that he did not pretend to understand and a stronger, more logical part of his mind that begged for caution - for time. He had spilled much blood in the past ten years... in the past five hundred, and in the end, that final thought was the one that drove him to hold his notched arrow, his eyes narrowed upon the young woman. "Hold," he murmured as the girl once more began to stir.

* * *

Sighing softly, Buffy slowly shifted on the hard ground, trying to avoid the rock that was digging into the small of her back. She was disoriented, her body was aching, her eyes felt as though they were being held down by bags of sand, and she felt far too constricted in the strange, soft leather that was wrapped around her petite frame. And more than that, she was confused.

There was hard ground beneath her, softened slightly by a thick cushion of what _felt_ like scattered leaves, and a stream of cool air brushed against her skin, kissing her cheeks and drawing her towards full awareness. Her mouth was dry and her throat felt scratchy, as though she had spent too many hours giving speeches to the Potentials that she housed...

...and yet the ground was most definitely not her bed and the sound of the wind whispering through the trees felt wrong. It felt different. And as her breath caught in her throat, the petite slayer felt her muscles contract as she finally remembered why.

Whistler.

The fight.

The pain and... the darkness.

She knew without looking that the spell had worked because everything around her felt different and foreign, from the creaking sounds of the trees as they shifted in the slight breeze, to the soft breaths that were decidedly not her own.... not her own.

She wasn't alone, and as this wasn't her home, that meant that the people that were breathing so softly weren't Willow, Xander, Dawn nor Spike... and they certainly weren't Giles.

Muscles tensing, Buffy took a slow, deep breath as she forced that single thought to the furthest corners of her mind before finally allowing her eyes to slip open - and immediately wished that she hadn't as a flood of bright light caused her green eyes to tear. Lifting a shaking hand to shade her hurting eyes, she refused to allow them to slip shut as she instinctively turned towards the figures that were gathered a few feet away, her gaze taking in the hazy creatures that were bathed in light, each suffused with its own bright luminescence.

"Ouch - you're all glowy," Buffy groaned as she tried to roll away from their innate light - and then froze as her heart contracted painfully in her chest. Maybe it was the five months that her body had spent rotting beneath the ground in a cold casket, or perhaps the following year that she spent recovering from the ordeal of being ripped from paradise only to be thrust back into Hell, but initial thoughts of glowing beings immediately brought to mind the Heaven that she could barely recall. After all, there wasn't much that she remembered about that time or place, outside of the feelings of peace, warmth, and security... but glowing people seemed to fit the stereotypes and initially... initially she couldn't help the wild hope that blossomed at the thought that somehow Willow _had_ been able to send her back to where she truly belonged. After all, while given a choice between life in a strange world and Heaven - well, Heaven was starting to sound pretty damn good. Sure, Heaven wasn't Sunnydale, and she seriously doubted that anyone would ever mistake the two, but Heaven was still better than being alone.

Forcing her aching body to sit, Buffy tentatively turned towards the glowing beings and watched as their glow began to fade until it disappeared altogether... and left her staring into the suspicious eyes of three of the most beautiful creatures that she had ever seen. Breath catching in her throat, the slayer traced her eyes over features that were undeniably male and quite human, save for their breathtaking beauty and grace. Tall, lean bodies clothed in form-fitting leggings and suede tunics that hung to their knees, long cloaks trailing behind lithe figures, pale skin that was unbelievably clear and flawless, strong, proud features, and hair that was long and smooth, varying from the palest golden blond to two others that were a deep, rich brown... and all holding three beautifully crafted long bows that were currently notched with delicately pointed arrows that were pointed at her heart.

"Somehow, I'm thinking that the Heaven guess may have been a bit premature," Buffy murmured with a small frown as she slowly pushed herself to her feet. Grimacing, the petite slayer looked past the three ethereal beings and at the large, ancient trees that towered above them all. "Yep, definitely not Heaven," she sighed as she straightened her long jacket around her small frame. "I guess I was thinking more poofy clouds with naked babies carrying harps," she continued as she turned back towards the three creatures who hadn't moved throughout her entire inspection - a fact that was surprising seeing as how their arms had not even begun to waiver beneath the tension of the strings they held.

"Where am I?" she asked as she allowed her senses to fully awaken to the world around her. The waning sunlight spoke of late afternoon and the golden leaves that crunched beneath her booted feet told of autumn - and yet the creatures that stood before her prickled something within her senses that told her as assuredly of the coming night that none of the three were human. Yet when the ethereal beings merely looked to one another, their fair features creased in confusion, Buffy's lips twisted into a grimace. "Do you even speak English?" she asked as she wearily lifted one trembling hand and rubbed it over her brow.

Delicate lips pulling down into a frown, the blond slowly lowered his bow as his eyes, as blue as a summer day, trailed speculatively over her small form before finally locking his gaze with hers. Instantly, Buffy felt as though the weight of the world pressed upon her small shoulders as she shifted beneath his gaze, trying desperately to tear her eyes away and succeeding only when he finally relented and released her gaze from his own. Yet in that moment, Buffy had briefly seen past his young features to see an aged weight that was nearly impossible for her mortal mind to comprehend. Hands trembling, Buffy found her mind vainly trying to grasp her usual equanimity as she floundered beneath the realization that she was in a place that she didn't know, facing beings that she couldn't comprehend... and doing it all alone for the first time, with no Watcher or Scoobies to back her. "You know, English?" she persisted, her voice lacking its usual bravado as she unconsciously wrapped her arms around her waist, her eyes locked on the leave-strewn ground before her.

Frown deepening, the blond creature slowly shook his head, his long hair shifting around his slender shoulders. "I know not of this English," he stated, his voice a strange, rich mix of light and musical alto tones that unwittingly brought a small smile to Buffy's lips, her eyes darting forward to trace the lines of the creature's perfectly sculpted lips. "Yet I do speak Westron. We all do," he clarified as he tilted his head toward his companions.

Frowning, Buffy quickly lifted her eyes, the spell broken, as she once more tried to focus. "Right... but you're speaking English now," she pointed out as she turned to his stoic companions - and nearly faltered as she realized that the faces of the other two seemed as though they were carved from stone, their jaws held rigid and unmoving and their dark eyes flinty and cold.

"No," he countered, his fair features creasing as he slowly eyed the slayer as though she were quite mad, "we are speaking Westron, or the Common Tongue, as it is also known."

"Well it sure sounds like English to me," Buffy returned as she turned from the trio with a soft, frustrated sigh to glare tiredly at the deep wood that was spread around them - and then frowned as she began to discern beautifully crafted structures that seemed a part of the wood itself, built high in the branches above. "Where am I?" she repeated as she turned and started towards a nearby tree, her eyes tracing what looked to be a large landing high above.

Cautiously, the blond slowly indicated for his companions to lower their weapons as he traced her movements with his sharp eyes. "You are in Mirkwood, the former realm of the woodland elves," he replied, his musical voice once more catching Buffy by surprise as she turned back towards him, her confusion only mounting.

"So... where's that in relation to California?" Buffy weakly returned, her smile forced as her arms tightened around her waist. She was beginning to feel quite cold... far colder than the warm afternoon warranted.

Blue eyes narrowing, the blond creature slowly shook his head. "I know not of the place of which you speak and I know much of this land," he stated, his voice soft. "To my knowledge, there is no such place in all of Middle-earth."

"Middle Earth?" Buffy parroted, her voice a mere whisper as she turned away from the creatures once more. "Middle-earth," she repeated, trying out the name on her tongue even as her legs gave way beneath her as she collapsed into an undignified heap upon the leaf-strewn forest floor. "Not Earth... Middle-earth," she repeated as she began to shake, her arms tightening around her waist to the point where her ribs began to ache. "Middle-earth," she whispered as the tears began to burn in her eyes.

Willow had done it. She had done as the Powers That Be demanded and had sent her away in order to restore the balance to her home. Willow had sent her away and that meant that... that they were gone. Willow. Xander. Dawn. Spike. Anya. Faith. Even Andrew and the girls... they were all gone, left to carry on in her absence. And she'd never see any of them again. They were all as dead to her as Giles... Giles.

A small sob choking in her throat, Buffy slowly knelt forward until her forehead was pressed against her hands as she crouched on the forest floor. Giles was dead. They had killed Giles and he was gone forever - and in a way, it was as though the First Evil had won, for not only was Giles lost to her forever, but the same was true for everyone else that she had ever loved. They were all gone forever and she was all alone. Forever.

Eyes growing soft as the young woman began to quietly sob into the leaves that were spread beneath her, Legolas slowly backed away until he and his companions were gathered together. As an elf, a being that was naturally far more attuned to the world around them, the young woman's emotions were so powerful that it was almost painful. He could almost taste the grief, the anger, and the overwhelming helplessness that seemed to mire her in its twisted grip - one that he unconsciously tried to shy away from.

"What has just happened?" Mirdan asked, his low words pitched for the ears of his companions as he instinctively switched into their native tongue, his dark eyes flitting to his prince and lord before glancing back to the young woman.

"I know not," Thoron cut in, his fingers toying with the arrow that he still clenched tightly in one, white-knuckled hand, "but I do know that it was evil. My Lord, we should leave this place at once," he continued as he turned towards his liege, his dark eyes boring into Legolas' blue.

"But what do we do with her?" Mirdan continued as he glanced towards the young woman, his features softening into a look of compassion. "We cannot leave her here."

"Of course we can!" Thoron argued as he glared at the other elf, his shoulders straightening slightly as he felt his will press against that of the other elf. Mirdan was younger than he, only a few thousand years old, and while he had been reared in Mirkwood amongst the shadows, he had been too young to take part in any of the great battles. Mirdan had never truly experienced Sauron nor Morgoth's evil as he had - and he hoped that the elf never would. And yet while Mirdan was young, his age still topped that of his liege by more than two thousand years. Legolas, born just after the end of the Watchful Peace, a mere five hundred and sixty years previous, was the last elf to be born on the shores of Middle-earth - the last elf that would ever be born in Middle-earth. And yet he had been born into the royal family of Mirkwood, the youngest son of King Thranduil, and more importantly, the one elf that had been chosen to represent the Firstborn in the War of the Rings. He had willingly joined Frodo the _Periannath_, had become one of the Nine Walkers, and had seen more darkness and battle than many elves that were thousands of years his senior. And he was their leader, their lord, and the last elf of royal blood that still dwelt in Middle-earth, aside from the twin sons of Elrond that still rode in the wilds with the Rangers of the North. He was their captain, and as such, Thoron quickly turned his eyes and his arguments to his lord. "She is not natural," he persisted as he leveled his gaze upon Legolas, trying his best to ignore the other elf that stood beside him. "We should leave her-"

"She is obviously of the race of Men," Mirdan cut in, his voice turning thoughtful as he once more glanced at the sobbing woman, pointedly ignoring Thoron's irritated sigh. "Lake Town is only a day's ride from here. We should take her there and leave her to her people-"

"She is not our responsibility!" Thoron interrupted, his voice growing taut with anger as he glared at the other elf. "My Lord, we should leave at once!" he argued as he turned back towards Legolas - and frowned as he realized that the prince was still staring at the young woman, his eyes filled with the same light that had caused them to travel from Ithilien in the first place. "My Lord?"

Ignoring his two companions, Legolas frowned softly as the young woman's sobs finally fell silent and the corded muscles along her arms and legs began to grow taut. Stilling, he quickly waved towards his companions for silence as she slowly lifted her head, one hand scrubbing away her tears as her eyes began to scour the quiet woods.

"My spider sense is tingling," Buffy murmured as her slayer sense began to whisper a warning to her scattered mind, her legs somehow finding the strength to support her as she clambered to her feet. In seconds she pushed aside the heartache, the memories, and the overwhelming feeling of loss as she gripped this small warning with a tenacity that would have surprised Giles. This sense of danger - this warning - was something familiar and something that she could understand. It was something that she could focus on and give her some small anchor to cling to in a world that she no longer understood. It was exactly what she needed in order to find her focus.

"Spiders?" Mirdan questioned as he instinctively reached for his bow, his eyes darting to the trees above.

Startled, Buffy turned to the dark-haired creature and found herself following his gaze into the trees. For a blessed moment she had almost forgotten about the strangers that had been arguing vehemently whilst she had been lost in her grief. Now, however, she found herself gazing once more upon the trio as she slowly shook her head. "It's just an expression," she explained, deciding that debates on the guy's apparent arachnophobia could wait until another day. "I just meant that something's wiggy," she continued as the elf slowly lowered his bow, all three now staring at her in mounting confusion. Sighing, Buffy rolled her eyes and was about to try again when the small whisper spiked into a thundering scream that caused the fine hairs on the back of her neck to lift. "Evil. Lots of evil, and it's coming our way," she murmured as she quickly spun and looked out into the thick trees that blocked her keen sight.

Frowning, Legolas cocked his head to the side as he once more regarded the strange puzzle that stood before him - only to have his musings cut short as the trees' lulling song began to carry a whispered warning. "Orcs," he murmured as he reached for his weapons, his comrades turning to him in surprise as they instinctively followed his lead.

"This close to the palace, and with the moon not yet risen?" Mirdan questioned, unconsciously falling back into their native tongue as he notched an arrow, his sharp gaze piercing through the shadowed rays beneath the towering trees.

"It is no longer our palace, and beneath the trees of Mirkwood, even the brightest sun has its limits," Thoron returned, his voice grim as he moved back a pace.

Sighing, Legolas silently acceded to Thoron's assessment. He was right, after all. Even though the trees lamented the passing of the Wood Elves, his father had ceded this part of the forest and all claims to these lands when he and his people abandoned the forest months ago. The forest no longer belonged to the Wood Elves, and that meant that any were free to come and go through these parts... including the abominations that still dwelt in too many parts of their world. "To the trees," Legolas ordered, his voice hard as he shouldered his bow long enough to jump and snag a thick branch with his hands before twisting himself into the tree above.

Frowning, Mirdan watched as Thoron followed their lord, before the younger elf turned his eyes once more to the strange young woman, her green eyes drawn wide and locked on the branches above them. "Come, my Lady," he stated, switching back to the Common Tongue as he tentatively stepped closer to the maiden, idly noting how he towered over her petite frame. "We must get to the safety of the trees."

Finally pulling her gaze away from where the other two had disappeared into the high branches, Buffy looked skeptically at the long, pale hand that was held before her. To be suddenly thrust into a world that wasn't her own and immediately be confronted by three beings that were, admittedly, far prettier than she was, was disconcerting at best. But then to find out that the beings were apparently part monkey, and that instead of using their spiffy looking bows to take on the approaching evil, they would rather hide up in some very large, pretty trees was something else entirely. Then again, this wasn't her world, and as such, Buffy ignored the being's hand and instead turned a critical eye to the nearest, lowest, and thickest tree branch she could find - one that happened to be holding the one with the golden hair.

Walking past the dark-haired creature, she tilted her head back and quietly gauged the distance, a mere fifteen feet, and then jumped up and gripped the thick branch with each hand before swinging up and flipping herself around until she landed precariously on the branch beside the slender being - and then proceeded to tip forward, her arms pin-wheeling to either side.

"Hold!" Legolas hissed, quickly overcoming his shock as he caught one of her arms and steadied her on the branch beside him. "How did you do that?" he demanded as he gently guided her until her back was pressed against the base of the tree, her small hands gripping the rough bark as her eyes met his outside of a pale face. "You move unlike any of the race of Men that I have ever seen," he continued, his eyes never once leaving her face as it slowly relaxed, apparently finding comfort in the security of the rough bark, a small smirk lifting her lips.

"Well that's because I'm not a man," Buffy returned as she shifted on the branch that didn't seem nearly as thick or sturdy once she was perched upon the limb, so far above the leaf-strewn ground below. Grimacing as her eyes swept down the distance, she couldn't help but think that next time she was sticking to the ground. Trees were for monkeys... and creatures like the one that was suddenly staring at her as though he didn't know quite what to think.

"You are not-"

"A man? Nope. I'm a woman," Buffy corrected as she flashed a brief smile at the slender creature, only to jerk back against the tree's base as his dark-haired companion flitted effortlessly onto the branch beside her from the ground so far below. "How did you-" she began, her wide eyes darting between the two creatures as the third, and more grim-looking of the three, seemed to fall from the tree above to land effortlessly on a slender branch a few feet away - a branch that didn't look sturdy enough to hold a squirrel, let alone the weight of the tall being that it supported.

"I counted at least thirty strong," Thoron reported, his low voice pitched in bitter disgust as he nodded towards the West, the setting sun painting the forest a glorious spread of reds and yellows.

Frowning, Legolas turned, his keen sight looking past the leafy fronds of the trees as his hands instinctively tightened upon the smooth wood of his long bow. "Apparently we were not the only ones to take note of the darkness," he stated, his eyes darting to his companions and silently relaying the fact that he meant far more than the waning daylight.

Sighing softly, Legolas purposely avoided the sharp, green gaze of the strange woman as he pondered the approaching enemies. A troop of thirty orc was a number that pushed the limits of what he and his two companions could comfortably handle, even when perched from the familiar heights of the trees of their homeland. And when added the fact that this stranger, the one who's appearance no doubt prompted the unexpected and unwanted arrival of the orcs... sighing softly, Legolas realized that there was really only one wise option. "Do not fire upon them unless our presence is compromised," he finally instructed, schooling his features to hide his dismay at the thought that they were forced to cower from the enemy in the woods of his birth.

"We're hiding?" Buffy returned before she could stop herself, as the eyes of all three of the creatures swung upon her. Yet whatever reply they were about to give was quickly pushed aside as the forest fell silent and as the very air seemed to darken around them. Confused, Buffy watched as the three creatures stiffened, their gazes returning to the forest floor that was bathed beneath the fractured light of the setting sun - and felt her breath catch in her throat as the first wave of twisted creatures clambered loudly over the leaf-strewn ground below.

Recoiling so hard that her back slammed against the rough bark of the tree that she was busy hanging onto for dear life, Buffy couldn't help the expression of disgust that twisted her lips as her eyes took in the dark beings below. The creatures walked like Quasimodo, with backs that looked bent and broken, their limbs black as though covered with oil, and their twisted lips pulled back into a snarl that was primal and ferocious. And while they weren't any more remarkable than some of the nastier demons that she had ever faced, Buffy couldn't help trying to draw back even further simply because of how _wrong_ they felt. The creatures felt dirty somehow... almost polluted and... _wrong_. They felt like something that went against every natural law, and something which never should have been allowed to exist.

They felt corrupted.

"What are they?" Buffy whispered, her voice so low that even her sensitive hearing barely picked up her murmured words as she watched the creatures slowly pick their way through the beautiful trees, their snouts lifted to the air as they snuffled loudly and spoke to each other in a language that sounded as though someone was drawing nails over a chalkboard.

"_Yrch_," Mirdan replied softly, his fair features twisted in disgust.

"Orcs," Legolas clarified, his expression darkening as he cautiously lifted his bow and sighted the largest of the creatures along the shaft of his perfectly crafted arrow, the green fletching brushing against the high bones of his cheek. Silently, he sensed, more than saw his two companions draw back in similar defensive positions as the massive horde trampled the delicate green below. They were obviously searching for something as they picked through the leaves and broke low-hanging branches from the trees, calling to one another as they passed beneath their watchful post. Yet when the largest of the creatures lifted his nose towards the trees, Legolas knew that the foul beast had found his quarry as his eyes pierced the leafy canopy to rest upon their silent forms. For a moment, time froze as the creature somehow sensed Legolas' gaze and turned his dark eyes towards the prince - and remained locked there as the arrow cut through the air with a sharp whistle before becoming buried in the orc's open mouth and piercing the back of his throat in a gruesome spray of black blood.

Wincing, Buffy jerked as the orc gurgled noisily for a moment, his hands pawing uselessly at the feathered tip of the arrow that protruded from his mouth, before tumbling to the ground in a wide splay of dead limbs. Eyes drawn wide, she slowly turned back towards the golden-haired creature as he pulled another arrow from his quiver and sighted another target - and then began to loosen arrow after arrow with a deadly accuracy upon the mass of dark creatures, almost quicker than even her eye could follow as the group below erupted into chaos.

_Periannath:_ Sindarin name for Hobbits


	5. Chapter 5

Equinoxium: Chapter 5  
by Lisette

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

"Stay here," Mirdan called out to Buffy, temporarily drawing her attention away from the hail of arrows that rained down upon the orcs from Legolas' and Thoron's bows. "Stay here and try not to draw attention to yourself," he urged before disappearing higher into the tree and its neighbors to unleash his own onslaught upon the enemy.

"Stay here?" Buffy returned incredulously, a small frown pulling at her lips. She was the Slayer - the girl who had spent the past seven years fighting the darkness and always coming out on top... or, at least _usually_ coming out on top. For some reason, dying in the fight against Glory didn't really feel like a monumental success at the moment. Nor did having her ass kicked by Willow the year before, or dying at the Master's hand _or_ sending Angel to Hell. But the point was, she was the one who did the fighting and _not_ the one who did the cowering.

That role was usually left to Andrew.

It didn't matter that this wasn't her world, nor did it matter that, while these orcs were decidedly ugly and evil, they weren't her demons. It didn't even matter that she was without a weapon and that when she took a moment to admire the scenery, the show really wasn't that bad, either. None of it changed the fact that this was what she had been born to do. And he wanted her to hide in a tree?

Shaking her head, Buffy watched as the ugly back creatures seemed to multiply like cockroaches, scattering beneath the rain of elegant, beautifully crafted arrows as they began to return fire with black, stubbly shafts from their own crude bows. Arrows that seemed to fly pretty accurately, despite their ugliness, as evidenced by the arrow that became lodged in the tree beside her head.

"Oh yeah, stay still and be a better target," Buffy grumbled as she tentatively began to step from branch to branch around the wide trunk of the tree that she was perched in, wincing at every loud groan and creak of the branches as they shifted beneath her booted feet.

"Sorry, sorry," she muttered as one of the limbs broke beneath her questing weight, echoing with a sharp crack before tumbling free and crashing noisily to the ground below. Scowling, she skipped that bad step and circled some more - only to find herself back where she had started. And while the helplessness in the high tree would have been bad enough by itself, her disposition wasn't improved when she caught sight of the three beings that dodged from branch to branch, tree to tree above her with an ease that only caused her glower to deepen. They seemed born to be in the trees, and at times, it was almost as though the thin branches moved themselves to accommodate each of the lithe being's impossibly light steps.

"What, are they made of feathers?" she muttered absently as she watched the dark-haired one, the one that had cautioned her to stay hidden, flit from branch to branch like some kind of tree... thing. Scowling as another arrow narrowly missed her shoulder, Buffy felt her patience snap as she threw a quick scowl at the creatures that were too busy flitting around her to notice her growing ire. Not that it mattered.

Instead, Buffy turned her gaze to the trampled forest floor below - and grinned as she took in the clear, leaf-padded patch directly below her. "Bombs away," she murmured, a wry smile lifting her lips as she stepped away from the tree and balanced precariously on the wobbly branch. For the briefest of moments she stood there, her eyes sweeping over the mass of black bodies that writhed and stampeded below her - and then stepped forward and allowed gravity to do its work.

Invisible fingers pulling at her long leather coat and tearing strands of blonde from her simple twist, Buffy plummeted from the high branch and landed in a crouch on the soft ground below. Eyes glittering as a familiar rush filled her senses, she watched as a few of the dark creatures nearest to her location started at her presence before forgoing their ugly bows in favor of curved, ratcheted swords that they drew from mottled scabbards that they wore along their backs. "Now this is what I'm talking about," Buffy murmured as she slowly straightened, her hands twitching as she truly felt like _herself_ for the first time since being thrust into this world. She was the slayer and this was what she was born to do.

Grinning, Buffy ducked beneath the wild swing of an over-anxious orc and followed with an elbow to his sternum that echoed with the sound of breaking bone. Twirling, she then swept beneath the arm of another as she wrapped her small hands around its bony wrist and forced its hand to drive its own sword into its gut. As a wave of hot, putrid breath rushed past her face, she felt her stomach turn as she stumbled back, the heel of her foot brushing against the wide trunk of the tree behind her.

"Okay, that's disgusting," Buffy stated as she side-stepped another clumsy rush, her hands wrapping around the creature's weapon and pulling it free as her foot connected with the back of its neck in a blow that once more echoed with splintering bone. "Don't you guys believe in personal hygiene or good dentistry?" she asked as she brandished the sword to the rapidly growing arc of orcs that leered and jostled each other, displaying mouths of crooked, blackened teeth. "I'll take that as a no," she muttered as she settled into a low, defensive crouch, the sword held ready before her - and then froze as the rain of arrows became redirected into the group that was gathering around her.

"Hey, those are my bad guys!" Buffy protested as she arched her neck to glare into the tree above her, unable to immediately pick out her unwanted helper from the leafy branches. "And what's with the supply of arrows that never ends? Not only are they part feather-monkey, but they also have limitless arrows," she grumbled before quickly turning back to her rapidly dwindling circle of opponents - and froze as a golden blur fell from the tree above to land effortlessly before her.

"No, our supply of arrows is not without limit," Legolas stated as he arched a fine brow at the small woman before turning towards the broken bodies of the orcs that she had killed, his expression unreadable.

"Duly noted," Buffy returned dryly as he slid two gleaming, bone-handed daggers from behind his back and brandished them at the orcs that remained - the remainder of _her_ orcs, no less. Scowling, she couldn't help looking enviously at the beautiful weapons before glowering at her rather scarred, black and goopy sword. This was turning out to be her day less and less... hell, it hadn't been her day in over two years, perhaps longer. Yet that line of thinking did little to ease the number of uglies that surrounded her, and instead only reminded her of the pain that the fight was just barely keeping at bay. There were no Scoobies to back her here. No Spike with his dry wit, no Xander with his cutting sarcasm, and no Willow with her gentle words and Giles with his... Giles.

Breath hitching in her throat, Buffy pushed the memories away as she purposely left her companion's side and swung in a low arc at the closest orc, her smile becoming feral as she twisted and parried, the dark metal becoming painted with black blood as she tore through her enemies. While she couldn't deal with her thoughts and memories, hordes of evil spawn were right up her alley. After all, this type of fighting called for constant movement - ducking, weaving, slicing, hewing, punching, kicking - any move to keep the sharp bite of the approaching sword at bay. It called for tactical thinking and keeping every sense, thought, and emotion in tight check as she spun through the trees, the dark creatures falling before her powerful strokes. It was a dance that was primal and dark, yet beautiful and ethereal - and yet it was a dance that seemed like a mockery of the one that her tall, blond companion performed as he twirled gracefully alongside of her. No, if she was a dancer, then he was the master performer as his lithe body bent and twisted with a grace and speed that went beyond anything she had ever before seen. His twin blades caught the fractured light of the setting sun and dazzled her eyes as it blinded his opponents, his blades never resting nor slowing as they effortlessly sliced through the helm of one creature, and beheaded the next with a blinding precision that left her breathless.... or perhaps that was just the stench of the creatures, filling her nostrils and causing her stomach to violently protest each and every breath she took.

Grimacing as her sword sliced through an artery and sprayed the forest floor with black blood, Buffy quickly darted back, only to have her shoulder slam against someone behind her. Twisting, she ducked low to avoid the swipe of her opponent's blade and drove her sword up and forward - and somehow managed to stay her blade moments before it impaled the beautiful, dark-haired creature before her. Frozen, she panted for breath, her hand quivering slightly as her green eyes met and held the tall being's dark eyes - and felt herself begin to drown in the ageless depth. If the blond's stare had been weighty, this one was incomprehensible. It was depth, wisdom, and experience of ages past - so many ages that she felt her knees beginning to shake beneath the implications. His eyes held the weight of ages unnumbered, and for the first time, the horrors of the past seven years - seven years that had aged her beyond her relatively young twenty-two years - suddenly seemed... inconsequential.

Frowning, Buffy felt the spell broken as that single thought echoed in her mind.

Inconsequential.

While she had the feeling that the deceptively young creature before her had seen many more years than she could even begin to imagine, that didn't make her short life any less important - any less meaningful. Those seven years had seen the rise of the slayer within her. Those seven years had seen her victories and they had seen her defeats. Those seven years had seen love won and they had seen that love lost and squandered. Those seven years had seen her death, and in a way, they had also seen her rebirth. Those seven years had played witness to her many mistakes... and yet they had also seen everything that she had done right. In those seven years she had died at the hands of the Master, she had loved Angel and then sent him to Hell, she had seen the deaths of Kendra and Miss Calendar, and the betrayal of Faith. In those seven years she had been gifted with a sister and buried her mother... she had died. And in those seven years she had been brought back, had fallen from grace and had lost Tara, and almost Willow as well, had seen Spike's soul restored to him and... and she had said goodbye to her friends and family for the final time. In the end, while she somehow knew that seven years were nothing to this creature, to her, they were everything.

"My Lord, they call a retreat," Mirdan called out as he dispatched his final enemy. "We must leave before they come back with... more," he trailed off as he turned towards his lord - and frowned as his eyes fell upon the sight of the young maiden's silent battle with Thoron, her sword tip poised above his heart. "Legolas," he murmured, his frown deepening as he looked to his prince and gestured towards the two.

Following Mirdan's nod, Legolas turned and immediately froze upon seeing his father's advisor and the young woman, poised and seemingly oblivious to the world around them. Frowning, he slowly moved on silent feet until he was a hair's breath beside them, expression guarded as he saw the girl's eyes flicker once before her hand began to relax on the pommel of her borrowed sword. "Thoron," he stated, his eyes darting briefly to the older elf as the sword was slowly lowered, the girl turning and looking distractedly at the blood-stained ground beneath her.

"My Lord?" Thoron returned as though nothing had been amiss, and as though his immortal life had not just been spared, his face impassive as he slowly turned to acknowledge his prince.

"Mirdan is right. We must leave this place at once," Legolas stated, his eyes never quite leaving the young woman as she slowly turned away and began to wander amongst the corpses that littered the once-beautiful forest floor. Now, the forest's beauty was marred and hidden beneath pools of dark blood, mangled corpses strewn amongst the tall trees. Slowly, almost absently she stilled beside one orc, its face twisted and hideous in death, before slowly crouching beside it, her green eyes dispassionately tracing over its features as she propped her blade against a nearby tree. Leaning forward, she reached as though to touch its still face before slowly pulling back her hand, her features twisting in disgust as she stood and continued her random perusals.

"I have the horses," Mirdan called out as he led the three elven steeds through the massacre, his soft words soothing the riled beasts as Thoron moved beside him.

Nodding distractedly, Legolas turned away from his companions and looked once more to the young woman, watching as she abandoned her ratcheted sword in favor of the weapon of another dead orc. This sword was long and straight, beautiful in craftsmanship and design, and obviously the spoils of an earlier battle - Rohirrim in design, if he wasn't mistaken. Briefly admiring the weapon that seemed impossibly large in her small hands, he watched as she slowly swung the sword from side to side, her wrist rotating the blade with an expert precision before nodding her approval as she then began to work the sword's sheath from the dead orc's frame.

The lady was a strange puzzle, and one that his mind had been turning over in his mind ever since he first laid eyes upon her. While he had admittedly little in the way of experience with the race of Men, outside of his friends, he thought that she seemed rather small and delicate-looking for a young woman of her years - and yet she handled the blade with far more ease and experience than even owyn when he had first met the shield-maiden almost twelve years ago, when the stoic woman had looked only a few years older then the lady that walked casually amongst the battle-slain. She was an enigma of evident power and grace, possessing skills and abilities that he had never before seen in those of the race of Man - and yet she carried a wisdom and the evidence of a long, hard experience in her shadowed green eyes.

_"Bring it down, Legolas," Aragorn whispered as his friend turned towards him, his gray eyes as flat as steel. "Kill it!" he hissed as Legolas once more went for his weapons, his lean hands sliding around the comforting weight of his long bow._

_With ease borne from over five centuries of experience, he quickly fit the thin shaft of an arrow to the bow string and pulled it taut against his cheek, his eyes never straying from the cloaked figure. Then, with his next exhalation, a moment that stretched for an eternity, he released his hold and watched as his arrow flew true as it soared across the vast fields and imbedded itself in the creature's back, directly over its heart. Yet with that single strike, the unmistakable sound of a woman's voice cried out in agony as the figure stumbled in pain, the hood finally falling to the side to free a torrent of long, blonde hair that pooled around her shoulders as she slumped lifelessly to the ground._

_Gasping his dismay, his bow fell from numb fingers as a lake of crimson spread from the fallen form to wash over his feet in a small wave, soaking through his leggings and drenching his skin with the warm, sticky fluid. Shaking his head, he took a tentative step forward, his heart hammering in his chest as for an ageless moment, he realized the horror of what he had done - a moment that was shattered by the cheers of his allies, the dismayed shrieks of his enemies, and the bright, blasting light of the sun as it shunned the moon and rocketed into the sky above him, bathing their world with blessed light and fully illuminating the lake that spread before him... the lake of blood._

"My Lord, we must go," Thoron stated, his deep voice pulling Legolas from the haunting memory of the dream that had plagued his mind for so many restless nights. "They will come back," his pseudo-bodyguard pointed out, casually borrowing Legolas' words as he placed those arrows that he had managed to salvage into his prince's hands.

Sighing, the archer slowly pushed his troubled thoughts away as he nodded his agreement, his eyes idly inspecting the stained shafts before he returned them to his quiver, while stowing the pieces from those that had been ruined in a pouch at his belt to be reused later. "Aye, you are right," Legolas agreed as he finally turned towards his father's most trusted advisor. "And we are taking her with us," he added, almost as an afterthought as he started towards his horse.

"What?" Thoron gasped, his normally stoic features twisting in surprised dismay as he hurried after his liege. "Nay, my Lord, you cannot be serious!" he protested as he gently grasped his prince's arm and turned the younger elf towards him, a move that surprised them both as Legolas looked to the advisor with questioning eyes. "She is not of our kind," he stated as he turned and looked to where the young woman was slowly straightening from her crouched position, her piercing green eyes narrowed upon them. "She is not our concern," he added as he scowled at the girl.

"You know, I'm not deaf over here," Buffy called out as she glared at the dark-haired creature in evident annoyance.

Frowning, Thoron resisted the urge to say something unbecoming to the young woman. "If we must bring her anywhere, then it should be to Lake Town," he stated, lowering his voice so that only the Elvish hearing of his lord and their companion could hear his muttered words. "They will-"

"Yeah, I can still hear you," Buffy stated, once more interrupting the dark-haired creature as she hopped over a very large and very dead orc, and stalked towards the three creatures. After all, thanks to her slayer-enhanced hearing, it wasn't as though they were really going to be having a conversation that she couldn't hear no matter _how_ much they lowered their voices, and if they were going to be deciding what to do with her, it only stood to reason that she should be a part of the conversation. She was the Slayer, after all - the Chosen One, and _not_ a bit of extra baggage to be left at any convenient location.

Stunned, Thoron openly gaped at the young woman as she joined their small circle. "How can you-"

"Okay," Buffy broke in, pointedly ignoring the most solemn of the three - the one that she had nearly impaled a few minutes before - and quickly turned her attention to the blond and the other one with dark hair, "what's the deal with this Lake place that your friend wants to drop me at?"

"Lake Town," Legolas corrected as he forced down a puzzled smile at the girl's strange wording, and more importantly, at how flustered the normally-stoic elf beside him was quickly becoming. It had been close to a century since he had last seen his father's advisor so riled - and that was only because of the strange group of dwarves and their single hobbit companion that had interrupted the summer feast that he had been attending. Eyes sparkling, Legolas purposely avoided Thoron's glare as he turned back to the young woman. "It is the nearest gathering of the _Edain_," he added by way of explanation.

"The race of Men," Mirdan clarified with a small, tentative smile.

"_Your_ kind," Thoron added with a dismissive snort.

"My kind, your kind," Buffy returned with an airy wave before frowning thoughtfully at the trio. "And which kind were you again?" she asked as she pointedly looked at their tall, unearthly beautiful frames and the delicately pointed tips of their ears that were visible through their long tresses.

"We are of the _Eldar_, the Firstborn," Legolas offered, a small smile pulling at his lips as he crossed his right arm over his chest, his hand fisted above his heart as he bowed slightly before her. "I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm-"

"Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil and Lord of Ithilien," Thoron cut in as he arched a fine, dark brow at the girl.

Sighing, Legolas frowned pointedly at his advisor as he waved his hand in his direction. "And this is Thoron, son of Erestion."

"I am Mirdan, son of Derinias," Mirdan added as he mimicked Legolas' bow, his smile growing even wider. "_Mae govannen_."

"Right, my governor, right back at ya," Buffy returned, her frown deepening as the creature straightened to his full, towering height. "So... Eldar?" she continued, all the while wishing that Giles or Willow were with her - or even Dawn. They were all so much better with this kind of stuff. She was always more of a kill-kill type of girl and _not_ so much with the brainy.

"Elves," Legolas supplied helpfully with a grin that Gimli would no doubt classify as extremely irritating.

"Oh," Buffy returned, her expression becoming blank as she looked from one of the tall creatures to the next. "Elves... like Santa's Little Helpers... only not so little," she clarified as she craned her neck to meet the elf's bemused gaze. "Plus, I don't really think that Santa would approve of the whole slaughtering of the..." she trailed off as she turned and gestured towards the bodies that were littered around them, having already forgotten the ugly beasts' name.

"Orcs," Mirdan stated, his features twisting in disgust and his earlier mirth forgotten as he was reminded of the foul beasts that polluted the once-beautiful wood.

"Right," Buffy stated, nodding slightly as she recalled the strange name for the ugly demons. "And... whose kind are these again?" she asked, pointedly looking from one decapitated creature to another.

"They are no one's kind," Thoron cut in, his eyes becoming two points of brown steel as he surveyed the mess that stained the forest and disrupted its natural harmony. "They are an abomination."

"But an evil abomination, right?" Buffy cut in hopefully as she turned back to her companions, her eyes practically dancing as she began to get a sense as to why she had been sent here. After all, what better use for a slayer than to slay evil, nasty things?

"Yes, quite evil," Legolas affirmed as he looked to his companions in confusion.

"And does this Lake Town place have an abundance of these evil abominations? Are they overrun with badness?" Buffy continued as she began strapping the sheath for her new sword over her long, leather jacket, her smile becoming more natural as some of her confusion began to fade away - until it was all brought back with Legolas' next words.

"Of course not," he stated, his eyes narrowing at the implied insult. "Lake Town is a part of the Reunified Lands beneath King Elessar's rule. Darkness no longer holds sway over any of our lands."

"For the most part," Mirdan amended with a soft sigh as he glanced upon the lands of their birth.

Frowning, Buffy followed Mirdan's gaze as she slowly stepped away from the others, her feet absently carrying her to the side of one of the orcs that had a green fletched arrow protruding from its heart. Sighing, she slowly knelt until she was crouched beside it, her eyes pointedly trailing from its hideous face to the broken arrow that had ended its life - the broken arrow that carried the same fletching that adorned the arrows that were held in the quiver at Legolas' back. "Right - and if you guys are lacking in the darkness department, what's the deal with these guys? Because they certainly don't seem all puppies and daisies to me," she pointed out as she leveled her gaze upon the three elves.

Inclining his head slightly to the side, Legolas slowly moved until he was kneeling opposite of the young woman, the dead orc sprawled between them. She was as an open book to him, her young age marking her features as her every emotion pulled at her lips and creased her brow as she flitted between despair, anger, confusion, and an overwhelming sadness that weighed down her small shoulders. One moment she would seem so young and lost, while in another something else would pass through her eyes and suddenly he felt as though he were looking upon a woman much older than her deceptively young countenance. In those moments, he felt as though he were looking upon the young ranger who had been destined to become King - a man who showed a youth that belied his mortal bearings, and yet whom carried a weight so grave and heavy that it darkened his gray eyes with a deep sadness that was never fully lifted. Frowning, Legolas watched as her green eyes briefly met his before she quickly turned away and looked pointedly at the creature, as though reminding him of her question. "They are a leftover breed," he stated, his voice soft as he forced his eyes to fall upon the creature whose life he had ended without thought or pause. "They are leaderless now, and hunted throughout our world."

Sighing, Buffy felt her earlier purpose drift away as though smoke on a fierce wind. "I'm getting a headache," she grumbled as she turned in a small circle away from the dead orc, her wide green eyes flitting past the carnage and taking in the strange woods that surrounded them. And in that moment, Buffy felt alone. Utterly, and truly alone.

Curtly shaking his head, Thoron pointedly turned from the young woman and accepted his horse from Mirdan's hands. "We cannot stay here," he reminded his companions as he leapt gracefully onto the animal's lean back.

Rolling her eyes at the prissy elf, Buffy finally drew her eyes from the desolate wood and watched as Mirdan mounted his horse, and then turned to see Legolas standing patiently beside his, his blue eyes locked upon her. "What?" she asked, her tone sharper than she had intended as she crossed her arms across her chest. Then again, with everything that she had gone through today, she figured that she was entitled to a bit of moodiness - probably even deserving of it.

Nonplussed by her curt question, Legolas merely tilted his head to the side in a way that reminded her less of a monkey, and more of a bird - which still explained a lot about their earlier battle. Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, she was about to question him on that very subject when he interrupted her musings with a brief nod in Prissy Elf's direction.

"Thoron is correct," Legolas stated as he acknowledged the elder elf. "While peace now reigns in these lands, there are still many foul creatures about. And while it pains me to admit, Mirkwood is no longer a place of Elves - yet neither is it a place of Men. We must leave these parts at once, and as I see it, you have nowhere else to go," he continued as he locked gazes with the young woman. "We travel south towards our home in Ithilien, and while the rest of my party continues to our colony, I would bring you to Minas Tirith in the heart of Gondor. King Elessar is the ruler of all Men in these lands and he will decide what, if anything, can be done for you."

Frowning, Buffy shifted uncertainly as she glanced from the elf's passive face, and into the equally passive and outright scowling faces of the others. "I can take care of myself," she pointed out, her words soft as she frantically tried to decide what she should do. She was as far from home as she could possibly get, and this time, there was no going back - at least not if she didn't want to give the First Evil another chance to make a go at ending the Slayer line, and quite possibly, the world. In other words, she was stuck in a place that she didn't know, completely and utterly alone... and yet Whistler had said that she was needed here. This world was out of Balance, even if these three didn't realize it, and if they needed a Slayer, that meant that something bad was heading their way that these Elves knew nothing about.

"We will not force you to accompany us," Legolas stated, breaking into her thoughts as he nodded to the darkening forest around her. "You may remain here, if you would prefer."

Sighing, Buffy took in the decidedly empty, gloomy, and slightly frightening forest as she wrapped her arms even tighter around herself. It wasn't that she was afraid of the dark - after all, she had been thriving in dark, creepy graveyards for the past seven years. But she was from Southern California and wasn't used to the thick woods that she had somehow landed in... or maybe 'appear' would be the better word - the entire process of switching worlds was still a little hazy, what with the agonizing pain.

Regardless, the point was that while California was certainly not lacking in the tree department, she had grown up in the heart of Los Angeles. Before becoming the slayer, she was a true California girl, brought up in the mall-crazed 80s and 90s. She had never really been the kind of girl that one would take hiking or camping... or really that one would take outdoors to do _anything._

And here she was.

In a forest.

Full of ugly dark orc-things that wanted to kill her and anything else of the good.

Sighing, Buffy turned away from the darkening forest and hesitantly moved beside the tall elf, her eyes critically taking in the blindingly white horse whose back stood a head or two above her own. Frowning, she watched as the horse turned its large head, big doe-brown eyes flickering over her petite frame before turning to its master, as though to ask if he was really being serious. A question that she was beginning to wonder herself as she noticed one big problem with the entire scenario. "Okay, while I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that there's supposed to be a saddle involved in all of this," she stated as she hesitantly patted her hand on the horse's bare back. "Besides, I'm from California, not Texas. I don't know how to drive this thing - I don't even have my driver's license yet," she added as she frowned at the large horse.

"You do not know how to ride a horse?" Legolas returned, arching his brow quizzically at the young woman. "Surely you do not travel solely on foot in your Kal-ee-for-nee-ah?" he asked as he gently ran his hand over Sador's gleaming coat.

"Nope, I've got better. It's called a Xander," Buffy stated as she gingerly mimicked Legolas' gentle caress on the large beast.

Frowning, the archer tilted his head to the side as he eyed the young woman, and then glanced questioningly to his companions who merely shrugged in return. "Well, you need not worry," he stated as he gently steered her away from the horse, and then lightly vaulted onto Sador's curved back. "You may ride behind me and allow Sador to do all of the work," he explained as he fondly ran a hand through the horse's white mane. Smiling, he then leaned down and extended a pale hand towards her.

Sighing, the petite slayer looked once more at the dark wood before resolutely stepping forward and placing her hand in his - and yelped as he half-swung/half-lifted her onto the horse behind him. Startled, Buffy instinctively wrapped her arms around his slender waist as the horse shifted beneath her, the bones of the animal's hindquarters digging through her leather pants and pressing against the soft flesh hidden beneath. "Ooh, I just know this is going to hurt tomorrow," she muttered as the horse smoothly broke into a gentle canter, his eyes piercing the lengthening shadows as the other two elven steeds fell into step behind him.

Smiling softly, Legolas couldn't help but be reminded of the similar complaints from Gimli during their many travels. The gruff dwarf was the only other person that he had carried behind him in his many long years. Though he was sure that Sador wouldn't be too disgruntled about this additional passenger. After all, the young woman was bound to be far lighter than his dwarven companion.

Frowning, Legolas used his knees to guide Sador through the darkening woods as he turned his head to the side. "By the way, my Lady - do you have a name?" he asked, as he realized for the first time that while they had all given theirs, she had yet to give her own.

"Buffy," the slayer stated absently as she wiggled slightly behind the tall elf, desperately searching for a position that wouldn't dig into her thighs quite so much.

"Buff-e?" Legolas returned, the name tumbling from his lips as he tried out the strange syllables. "Buffy. Such an odd name," he mused as she finally settled against him, her hands loosening as she either found a comfortable position, or else abandoned the hunt as fruitless.

Snorting softly, Buffy rolled her eyes at the elf's soft words. "Yeah, like you're one to talk," she muttered as she allowed the buzz of the insects to fully herald in the coming night.

_Mae govannen: Well met_


	6. Chapter 6

**Equinoxium: Chapter 6  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Sighing listlessly, Buffy allowed the horse's gentle movements to lull her thoughts into a blessed, numb silence. Too much had happened in far too short of a time and whenever an inkling of a thought or a memory of everything that had happened... of everything that she had lost... whenever something even came close to surfacing through the numbness that had settled over her weary frame, she found herself desperately turning towards the soft, murmured conversations of the elves with which she traveled. Occasionally they would speak in their beautiful, musical language, and other times, in an obvious attempt to draw her out, they would speak in English - or the Common Tongue, as Legolas continued to insist. Regardless, the small slayer found herself locked in her own small world as she desperately tried to forget everything around her - including herself.

Yet it was a fruitless task, as even with her thoughts pushing down upon her small shoulders, her slayer sense refused to stay quiet. Instead, she found herself automatically cataloging every strange sound that broke the quiet night - some that she could identify, and others which caused her skin to crawl and the fine hairs on the back of her neck to tingle. Some, she was sure, could be attributed to the normal night sounds of a forest such as the one she found herself in, yet others... other noises signified, to her at least, that there was something else out there. Something that was watching them.. following them... something that was-

"You do realize that we're being watched, don't you?" Buffy demanded, her soft voice shattering the night quiet. Frowning as the three elves fell silent, she loosened her hold on the blond elf and turned slightly on the massive white horse, her green eyes piercing the darkness that was somehow lightened by... by the glow that was emanating from each of the three beings. "And that you're glowing," Buffy added, slight lines creasing her forehead as she realized for the first time that it was the apparently natural glow of the three ethereal beings that was keeping the absolute darkness at bay. Frowning, she added eel to the mix of monkey and bird, absently cataloging the strangeness of her companions.

"Yes to both questions," Legolas responded, a small smile lifting his lips as the young woman finally broke her solemn silence, her fingers fidgeting absently with the embroidered material of his tunic. For the past few hours, he and Mirdan both had been trying their best to engage her in conversation, curiously trying to find out more about the mysterious young woman that had melted into their world only hours before - the one that dove into battle with a troop of orcs, and managed not only to hold her own with the enemy, but defeat many in the most colorful and gruesome of ways. Yet her monosyllabic answers had been vague and disinterested at best, and soon both had forgone their attempts as Thoron directed their words to talk of their route, plans for the colony of elves at Ithilien, and additional mundane topics until even that had died away as they allowed the forest's natural song to lift their hearts and soothe their spirits. "The light is a part of our nature - a reflection, of sorts, of our spirit," he explained as Mirdan angled his horse closer so that he could take part in the conversation - and as Thoron began to draw ahead with a disinterested sigh.

"And as for those that watch us," Mirdan added solemnly as he carefully eyed the young human, "there are many that watch our passage through the wood this night. From the trees to the birds and the night predators that stalk the dark skies... although I am surprised that you can feel their eyes upon us. Most mortals would not even notice their passing."

"Well I'm not most mortals," Buffy returned as she shrewdly glanced into the darkness that surrounded them. "Plus, for some reason I'm not thinking that it's the birds and the trees that I'm feeling here. It's... darker," she murmured as her head snapped to the left, her eyes tracking a thick, round shape before it disappeared into the high branches, the creaking of the aged wood echoing around them.

"Then you are able to sense spiders as well as orcs," Legolas surmised, his eyes briefly catching Mirdan's as the older, dark-haired elf watched the girl closely. She had been fidgeting on the horse for quite a while now, and Legolas had begun to wonder how long it would take her to speak of her unease.

Grimacing, Buffy tightened her hold on Legolas as her eyes darted around them, her mind trying to somehow relate the large, scurrying body to that of the spiders that she was accustomed to - and quickly decided that she preferred even Sunnydale's version of the spider to what was apparently tailing them. She was suddenly beginning to understand Mirdan's sudden bout of arachnophobia from earlier that evening. "Let's just say that everything and everyone feels a bit different to me," Buffy murmured as the feeling of being watched began to lessen. "Tracking and killing things of the evil variety just happens to be my specialty," she added as she felt her body begin to relax, the adrenaline slowly seeping away as the threat faded from her mind.

Sighing softly, she ignored Mirdan's piercing glance and twisted around her tall companion, her eyes barely making out the glowing form of Thoron as he led the way through the dark woods. "Are you guys sure that he knows where he's going? 'Cause to be honest, this is all looking the same to me," Buffy stated as she slowly straightened, resigning herself to another interminable period of looking at Legolas' back. Not that it was a bad back. Actually, if it weren't for the gray cloak that trailed from his slender shoulders, she was pretty sure that he'd have a nice back.

"I think that Thoron would know the way even if he were blindfolded," Mirdan stated, oblivious to Buffy's increasingly random thoughts.

"And if not, Sador would never lead us astray," Legolas added as he fondly ran his long fingers through his mount's brilliant white mane. "Besides, it would be difficult to stray from the Forest Path even in the darkest of nights. It leads from my father's palace due West until it reaches the very borders of Mirkwood."

Slender brows arching skeptically, Buffy once more twisted around her tall companion as she eyed the ground, barely perceptible from the glow of the three elves with which she traveled. "This is a path?" she asked doubtfully as Legolas turned his head to quirk a brow at her disbelieving frown. "Where are the wood chips and the little arrow signs?"

Smile blossoming upon his lips, Legolas couldn't help but be reminded of stout Samwise Gamgee and his adamant insistence that his and Aragorn's idea of a shelter were quite different. Then again, that had been when the small hobbit had been young and innocent to the world, carrying no other desire than to serve his Master and friend, willing to follow Frodo into Mordor itself. In a way, they had all carried a relative innocence in those days - an innocence that had become shattered and broken upon the dark, stained rocks of Mordor.

Sighing softly, Legolas pushed his dark thoughts away and instead replayed Buffy's words once more, his quick mind rapidly pushing through the tangled weaves of her strange speak until he found the true meaning behind her innocent question. In the brief few hours since they had witnessed Buffy's arrival in Middle-earth, he had already become a master of picking past her odd wordings and questions. It was almost like a puzzle or a riddle, and if there was one thing that his kind enjoyed, it was games that teased the mind and tweaked the imagination. Smiling softly once more, he casually shrugged his shoulder as he turned slightly so that she could catch his soft words. "It is an Elvish path," he stated, as though that statement alone would explain everything.

Which of course explained nothing at all.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy settled back on the white steed, her hands once more playing with the soft material of Legolas' jerkin. "Cryptic much?" she muttered, feeling as though she had really been transported back to her first year in Sunnydale when each week it seemed as though Angel had appeared for the sole purpose of leaving her with yet another cryptic warning.

Angel.

Hand convulsively clutching at the soft material of Legolas' tunic, Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat at that single, startling thought. Head bowing until her forehead was pressed against the soft material of the elf's cloak, she quickly fought against the tears that were already burning the corners of her tightly clenched lids. How could she have possibly forgotten about Angel? Everything had happened so fast, and it had been so long since she had last spoken with the vampire, but to have left without giving a message for the others to pass onto him? She never had the chance to say goodbye... not the kind of goodbye that's supposed to last forever. And while she could always hope that someday, upon her death, she would return to a place where she would once more be with her friends and family, what guarantee was there that Angel would be allowed to join them in the rest that he so deserved?

Sniffling angrily, Buffy scoured at her tears as she ferociously shoved her thoughts away. She never cried - not anymore - and already she had broken down far too many times in the past few hours alone - so many that she was beginning to feel like a weepy, hormonally-challenged, pre-pubescent teenager. "So how long will we be following this 'path'?" she asked, her voice wavering as she resolutely strove to keep the silence at bay.

For a moment, Legolas merely shared a glance with Mirdan as Buffy once more managed to push away whatever pain had been eating at her. "Just until we make camp for the night," he returned, his hands once more working through Sador's gleaming mane. "Tomorrow morning we will then leave the path and make our way southwest through the trees of Mirkwood, skirting the north-western edge of _Emyn-nu-Fuin_, the Mountains of Mirkwood."

"Oh," Buffy muttered as she shifted restlessly. "And how long will that take?"

Softly sighing, Legolas was once more reminded of the hobbits as he praised the innate patience of his kind. "Pending no disruptions, we should reach the village of Rhosgobel, a settlement of Men, near sunset the day after tomorrow."

"Sunset the day after... _two days?!?_" Buffy demanded, her voice rising as her fingers viciously twisted the soft material she had been toying with, blanching at the idea of continuing this torturous method of transportation for another two days.

Lips curling into a small smile, Legolas continued to watch Thoron's progress before them as he casually continued. "Yes - and from there we will follow the bank of the mighty Anduin for two more days," he stated, casually noting the way Buffy began to lift each of her fingers from his jerkin in a silent count, "until we reach the borders of Lothlorien - a wood once filled with the voices of my kin - now silent and empty," he murmured, his expression momentarily growing wistful before brightening with the new game he had found. For while Buffy was certainly no Gimli, he was beginning to find her reactions just as comical. "We will then continue south for one more day and camp on the bank of the Anduin for the last time. The next morning we will then cross the Anduin and the River Limlight, at which point we will enter into Rohan, the home of the mighty Horse-Lords. We will continue south until we reach the base of the White Mountains and the Great West Road - five days later," he added, almost as an afterthought, "and will follow the road east towards Minas Tirith, where we will arrive four and half days later."

For a moment, Buffy allowed the silence to stretch as she hastily did the math - and then did it again, hoping that somehow she had miscounted somewhere... and slowly deciding that indeed, she hadn't. "So you're telling me that it's going to take us... it's going to take us over _two weeks_ to reach this king of yours?" Buffy demanded as she realized that this little horse ride was never going to end.

"Precisely," Legolas affirmed with a small smile that Gimli would no doubt try and attribute to the smugness of the Firstborn.

Sighing, Buffy quickly released the elf's tunic as she pressed her fingers against her throbbing head. Two weeks. Two weeks of moving slower than she could run, of being bumped and jostled in places that weren't meant for that kind of abuse, and of being forced to spend each and every waking moment with three strangers. "Haven't you guys ever heard of a car? Or I guess a Hummer would be more fitting," she amended as she took in the bumpy terrain. "Or how about an airplane?" she asked as she glanced hopefully back and forth between the back of Legolas' golden head, and the smiling Mirdan who continued to ride abreast of them, when the 'path' permitted. Yet the question was rhetorical - a fact that both elves were apparently aware of, as neither offered an answer to her desperate questions. Sighing, Buffy glowered at the deep night and absently shifted on the horse that patiently bore her squirming weight. "Figures," she grumbled as she crossed her arms petulantly before her. "Not only do they drop me in a world without a shopping mall, but there are no planes, trains, or automobiles, either."

Finally sensing the opening that he had been patiently waiting for, Mirdan quickly moved his horse closer so that his legs bumped against those of his liege, Buffy's bright green eyes quickly turning questioningly towards him. "And where _do_ you come from, Lady Buffy?"

"A place far, far away from here," Buffy sighed as she turned her eyes towards the dark Heavens. "And you can stop with the Lady stuff. It's just Buffy," she added as she frowned at the dark-haired elf.

"Yes, but how did you _get_ here?" Mirdan persisted, a small frown pulling at his lips.

"Magic," Buffy returned, unconsciously falling into her monosyllabic responses in a tried hope that the elf would get the point and let the matter rest. It had been one _hell_ of a day and she didn't feel like getting into the quantum physics of balancing Good and Evil and how one little resurrection could wreak havoc upon everything and everyone that she held dear - and then some.

"Obviously," Mirdan retorted, sniffing disdainfully at the implication that he couldn't recognize magic when he saw it. "And Dark Magic, as well," he added, absently thinking back to the way that the forest seemed to draw cold and silent as the dark words whispered through the trees around them.

Green eyes snapping at the dark-haired elf, Buffy bristled as she straightened her shoulders and unconsciously drew upon her rather unimpressively short stature. "That's not Willow's fault," she snapped, her eyes narrowing upon the dark-haired elf. "Well... not really," Buffy amended as, just like that, the anger was drained away as she once more sagged against the golden-haired elf before her.

"Willow?" Legolas murmured, feeling Buffy rest her cheek tiredly against his back, the warmth of her skin leaching through the soft folds of his cloak.

Sighing, Buffy wearily closed her eyes as she fought against the images of her friends. Willow, Xander, Dawn... Giles.... "It's a long story," she murmured as she opened her eyes to take in the dark forest that slowly passed them by, the shadows becoming fractured by the weak light of the elves. "Suffice it to say that while it may not have been the best or my preferred method of transportation, I have it on good authority that it was the only way to get me to where I needed to be. And that place is apparently right here."

"Yes, but _why_?" Legolas persisted as the images from his dream once more flickered on the edges of his vision. So much blood and darkness. So much evil... and somehow it was all connected to the young woman that rode behind him. The only thing that he didn't understand was the connection - and it was a connection that he knew that he had to find quickly, or else all of Middle-earth would suffer from his failure.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out myself," Buffy returned as she straightened, doing her best to keep her whirling emotions at bay. "Listen, can we just-"

"We should stop here for the night."

Surprised, Buffy looked up to see that Thoron had stopped before them, his horse's tail flickering in the dark night as the elf easily slid from his high seat. "Oh, thank God," Buffy muttered as she waited barely long enough for Legolas' horse to come to a stop before she was sliding from the great height, a small groan of pain falling from her lips as her legs nearly buckled beneath her weight. "Oooh - not good," she muttered as she tentatively rubbed at her aching inner thighs and massaged her butt that had gone numb hours ago. Wincing, she slowly began to pace back and forth, working to return the circulation to her aching limbs as the other three wordlessly separated, Thoron disappearing into the dark wood, their small clearing darkening by that fraction as his light drifted away, while Mirdan gathered the horses around him and as Legolas knelt on the soft earth and began playing with the leaves on the forest floor.

Frowning, Buffy watched the silent activity from her place in the shadows, her arms wrapped around her small waist. The three elves had obviously been traveling with one another for quite some time in order for them to so flawlessly form such a smooth routine. Mirdan, it seemed, would tend to the horses while Legolas... played in the dirt. Frowning, Buffy slowly stepped closer to the soft glow of the golden-haired elf, her eyes tracing his pale hands as he tenderly brushed the scattered leaves to reveal the barren earth below. While she could care less where Thoron had disappeared to, Legolas' graceful, tender movements of the brightly colored, brittle leaves captured Buffy's wandering attentions and drew her ever closer until she was kneeling opposite him, her head tilted to the side as she curiously watched his slow, practiced movements. "What are you doing?" she asked, her soft words muted, as though wary of breaking whatever spell his two, pale hands were creating.

For a moment, silence reigned as Legolas slowly lifted his eyes, blue meeting green as he seemed to look past all of her defenses and straight into her soul. "Preparing a site for the fire," Legolas returned, his words low and even as he casually turned to accept the scavenged wood that Thoron had silently returned with.

In that moment, Buffy felt the spell shatter as her face instantly began to burn. "Oh," the slayer muttered, feeling about as bright as a three year old as she stepped back a pace, trying her best to look less like the complete and utterly useless moron that she was beginning to feel like - a feeling that was foreign to her, and one that she decided that she didn't enjoy. She had been the slayer for seven years - a career that meant that she was always moving, always fighting, and always working to make things better for her world. She was the one who, if she didn't have all the answers, at least knew how to _get_ those answers - whether it was through Giles, her friends, or by beating the answer out of a demon or two. She was the slayer and that _meant_ something... or at least, it had always meant something before.

Frowning, Buffy watched as Legolas slowly coaxed the small flames until they were glowing brightly, suffusing the small clearing with their warm, golden light - a light that failed to spread to her place in the cold shadows. Soon all three were gathered around the fire, their postures relaxed as their beautiful voices lifted in muted words. They were beautiful in the warm firelight, the flickering flames playing on their high, sculpted cheekbones, their musical voices blending with the crackling of the burning wood and creating an enchanting cadence that somehow worked to ease her hurting heart. Within minutes, her usual place in the shadows lost its appeal as she found herself yearning for the warmth and the light that she had been denied for seven long years - and without consciously realizing what she was doing, Buffy soon found herself stepping before the fire as she settled between Mirdan and Legolas, purposefully ignoring Thoron's cold gaze from across the dancing flames.

"_Lembas_?" Mirdan offered as he gently pushed a small hunk of the Elvish fare into her small hands, followed by a pouch of wild berries. "It is an Elvish waybread - food," he added, laughing quietly as she suspiciously eyed the small portion.

"Waybread?" Buffy parroted as she broke off a small piece of the hard, yellowed bread - bread that reminded her a lot of the triangular scones that Giles had been so fond of - and tentatively sniffed the food.

"It is not poisonous," Legolas assured as he broke off a piece of his own dinner and toyed with the crumbling edges. "If anything, I have been told that the bread is quite filling and satisfying to the pallet of the _Edain_."

"Even if _we_ have come to despise it on our long voyage," Mirdan added as he distastefully eyed his own portion of the typical traveling fare of the Firstborn. "My lord, how much longer did you say it would take us to reach Rhosgobel?" he asked, directing the question towards his liege as he watched Buffy slowly nibble on a small piece of the _lembas_ that she held, a slow, startled smile lifting her lips. "Because," he continued, sighing dramatically, "I fear that I may not survive much longer if this be all that will sustain us through the coming days."

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Buffy stated as she broke off another piece of the bread and tossed it into her mouth, causing it to disappear nearly as fast as the first. Instantly her smile brightened as the sweet, honeyed taste teased her taste buds and sent a quiver of warmth through her cold limbs. "This is way better than scones," she continued as she added a few of the wild berries to the mix, a small, satisfied smile pulling at her lips. "Besides, you haven't known true horror until you've tried the Doublemeat Deluxe," she added as she accepted Legolas' small container of water to wash down the mix, finding her hunger unbelievably abated by the small portion of bread. And with the ease of her hunger, Buffy also found her entire body slowly beginning to relax as she greedily took in the fire's warmth, the flickering flames hypnotic as she felt all of her burdens slowly slide away leaving her with a blessed, empty sort of release.

Noting how the tension eased from the young woman's shoulders, Mirdan leaned back until he was propped against a nearby tree. "A double-meat-deluxe?" he returned, his dark brows quirked against fair skin. "Such an odd name - and it is food of which you speak?"

Snorting softly, Buffy slowly shook her head. "I think the jury's still out on that one," she muttered wryly as Legolas shifted beside her, his eyes cautiously meeting her own as he tilted his head to the side in that same bird-like manner that he had used earlier.

"Would you tell us a bit about this place from where you come? This Kal-ee-for-nee-ah?" he asked, instinctively knowing that it was this subject which caused the fine lines to crease her forehead and pull at her lips, aging her far beyond her years. Yet he couldn't ignore the fact she was not of their world, nor the method by which she was brought to them... nor could he ignore her ties to the dreams that had brought them to this meeting and the possible significance that it conveyed.

Frowning, Buffy lifted a single leaf, faded a deep red from the cooling nights and the coming winter, and slowly twirled it between her fingers. "What do you want to know?" she asked, unconsciously mimicking Legolas' cautious tone as she hesitantly lifted her eyes and looked at the golden haired elf - so solemn and serious in the bright firelight.

"Well if your attire is any indication," Mirdan added as his eyes danced curiously over the strange garments that adorned her small frame, "I would assume that it is quite different than what we are accustomed to."

Sighing, Buffy allowed the leaf to slip from her fingers and slowly return to its place with its fallen brethren. "You don't know the half of it," she murmured as she lifted her head, her eyes unconsciously tracing the dark eaves of the large trees that towered above them, shifting in the slow, cool night breeze.

"Yet there are no elven-kind in your world," Mirdan persisted, his eyes darting to his right to see that while refusing to participate, Thoron seemed to be following every word with rapt attention.

Frowning once more, Buffy curtly shook her head at the dark-haired elf. "Nope. We have your garden variety humans, witches, vampires, werewolves and various demons," she stated, nonchalantly ticking the creatures from each slender finger, "but aside from that, no other weird stuff."

Breath hissing between pursed lips, Legolas slowly shook his head. "There is much darkness in your world," he stated, his voice no more than a solemn whisper as Buffy once more casually shrugged at his words.

"I suppose," she admitted as she absently tossed a few acorns into the sputtering fire. "But not many people are aware of the darkness," she continued, her eyes locked within the flames. "Most humans... well, make that virtually _all_ humans - or Men, as you guys seem to put it," the slayer amended with a wry smile, "have no idea that the other stuff is even out there. And even when they _do_ see something strange, they tend to either rationalize it or forget they ever saw it. A defense mechanism or something."

"But not you," Legolas stated as the young woman's eyes slowly lifted from the flames to lock with his own - eyes that contained an age far beyond her young years.

"No, not me," Buffy agreed as she once more looked back to the small fire. "I had a rather rude awakening seven years ago and haven't been able to go back since... no matter how hard I tried," she murmured, her words falling softly before dying away as the memories once more tried to reclaim her.

"And are all of your kind like you?" Thoron asked, finally joining the conversation and unwittingly saving the small slayer from herself as Buffy gratefully pushed her troubling thoughts away.

"How do you mean?" she cautiously returned, suspiciously eyeing the extremely solemn and grim-looking elf.

"Are they able to do what you-"

"Not hardly," Buffy quickly broke in, snorting softly as she once more began to fiddle with the forest debris that was scattered around her. "No, I guess you could say that I'm just lucky like that... or cursed," she amended, a small frown pulling at her lips as she thought of all of the horrors that had been crammed into seven short years. "The verdict is still out on that one as well," she murmured, tiredly lifting a hand to massage her aching head as the thoughts and memories of her friends began to batter at her already weakened defenses. Gone was the satiated emptiness that had been brought on by the food and the fire, and in its place she felt everything beginning to seep back through the widening cracks of her mental and emotional barriers.

"Yes, but how did you _come_ here?" Thoron persisted, unconsciously leaning forward as he pierced the girl with his sharp gaze. "How did you-"

"Does it matter?" Buffy cut in, her words sharper than she had intended as she quickly climbed to her feet and glared at the dark-haired elf. "I'm here now and there's nothing that anyone can do about it, alright?" she stated, her heated words like a slap against the faces of all three elves as she stepped back until all were included in her glare. But just as quickly as the anger had come upon her, it was gone even faster as Buffy felt her final line of defenses crash against the onslaught of everything that had happened. She just didn't have the strength to debate with the elves while trying to keep everything at bay... she didn't have the strength for any of it.

Feeling the tears burn in her eyes and hating herself for each and every drop that broke free, Buffy quickly turned on her heel and stalked into the dark shadows of the forested night, her hands slapping away branches as she hurried away from the warmth, the light, and the company that it provided. She felt like screaming, she felt like crying, and she felt like curling up into a little ball and praying for the world to melt away. Everything was building within her and she _knew_ that there wasn't enough room and that if she didn't find a way out of this... this _place_, then she was going to explode and then there would be no going back.

Groaning, she ground the heel of one hand into her watering eyes until bright lights exploded behind her lids, forcing back her tears as her coat snagged on a resisting branch. Turning, she viciously yanked the material free and stumbled a few paces until her back slammed against the rough bark of a towering tree, the pain cutting through her emotions and giving her a center - a center to fight the agony that was ripping her heart into shreds. Twirling, her long jacket flaring around her slender hips, Buffy launched herself at the tree and began pummeling the unyielding bark with everything that she had, ignoring the sting as the rough wood sliced through her skin and bathed her hands with blood.

It wasn't enough. None of it was enough and soon Buffy found her energy spent as she turned and slid down the tree that had taken the brunt of a slayer's abuse. Hands cradled before her, she stared the bloodied digits in numb fascination as she shifted on the ground - and froze as something crackled at the movement. Burning eyes lowered with curiosity, Buffy absently patted at the pockets of her long jacket - and heard the crinkle once more - and yet found each of the lined openings empty. Frowning, she slowly pulled the jacket from her body and turned her eyes towards the interior lining - and found a hidden inner pocket. With bloody, trembling fingers she slowly felt within the small opening and withdrew a single, slightly crinkled object... a picture.

Instantly the tears that she had valiantly been attempting to hold at bay broke free in a fresh torrent as Buffy pressed one bloody hand against her lips to stifle the sobs. She knew this picture - how could she not? Kennedy had taken it only a few short weeks ago, and Dawn had framed it and placed it on the mantle the very next day. She had stared at it at least a few times each day during the following weeks, committing the picture to memory. It was her own personal portrait of what she fought for - what she sacrificed everything for.

It was her family.

Tears trailing down her cheeks, Buffy tenderly cupped the picture in one blood-stained hand, her eyes never once leaving the simple photograph. To her knowledge, it was the only one in existence. It was the only one, and somehow someone had known this and left her with this final reminder of all that she had lost... and all that she had forever left her home in order to save.

* * *

Sighing softly, Legolas watched Buffy's angry strides until even his eyes could no longer trace her path into the dark and silent woods about them. Instantly a deep, ill-tempered silence fell upon three elves as the prince allowed the full brunt of his Elven glare, a trademark of his father, to fall upon Thoron as he angrily crossed his arms about his chest. For a time unnumbered, they remained thus - eyes locked upon one another until even Legolas' patience ran thin. "Will you not let it rest?" he finally demanded as he arched an angry brow at the elder elf.

"We know nothing about this girl!" Thoron returned, refusing to be cowed before his lord's anger. After all, while Legolas had learned much from his father, his heart was far too gentle to ever truly harness the power of brow-beating one's subjects.

"Thoron is right," Mirdan offered, faltering as Legolas turned accusingly towards him, his mouth opening to unleash another scathing rebuke. "Look," he quickly cut in, holding his hands in a placating gesture before him, "all that we know is that something dark brought her to Mirkwood. Yet she knows something more that she is not saying. That much is obvious to all."

"Your father would-" Thoron began.

"My father is not here, nor will he ever be again," Legolas cut in, his eyes flashing. "He has forsaken this world, and unless you've decided to join him..." he continued, his angry words falling away beneath the weight of his own admission - beneath the weight of the frustration that had gone unspoken for so many months. His father was gone. His brothers were gone. His _family_ was gone, and until he gave in to the Sea-Longing that forever pulled at his soul, he would never know peace nor his family again. He would never be whole.

Sighing softly, Legolas curtly shook his head as he forced his face into a neutral mask, his eyes becoming shuttered. "This conversation is over," he stated, his words allowing no room for argument as he stood and began feeding more wood into the fire. "We should set watches and get some rest if we want to make an early start tomorrow."

"I will take first watch," Mirdan offered quietly as he acceded to his lord's wishes and allowed the matter to drop. "The Lady may use my sleeping roll for the night," he added as he stood and began gathering his things.

"I will take the second," Thoron added as he, too, nodded towards his liege, his dark eyes softening as he looked at his young prince. "I will wake you when your watch has come," he offered as he turned towards his own belongings - and froze as he noted the young woman who stood silently behind him, her face pale and her eyes large and red, her hands hidden within the depths of her long coat.

"I can help," Buffy offered as she tentatively stepped closer to the light, her eyes darting nervously to the three elves - silently asking if she was still welcome amongst them after her rather embarrassing and very un-Buffy-like outburst.

For a moment, silence reigned as Legolas silently appraised the young woman, watching as she unconsciously began to fidget beneath the combined weight of their stares. Frowning, he watched as she lifted a hand to brush at an errant strand of hair, his eyes locking on the many scrapes and cuts that lined her small hand.

"I do not-" Thoron began, his eyes hard and unforgiving.

"The Firstborn require very little in the way of rest," Legolas broke in as he threw a pointed glare at the dark-haired elf. "We will see to the watches this night," he added as Mirdan beckoned her towards the sleeping roll that he had laid out beside the fire.

For a moment more, Buffy stood awkwardly on the brink between the shadows and the light, unconsciously teetering between the two worlds before her exhaustion finally won out. Nodding her thanks, Buffy slipped past Thoron and moved around the wide ring before slowly dropping onto the soft blankets beside the roaring fire. Her body aching, she drew a blanket over her small form as she curled into a ball, her hand pressed tightly over the pocket that held her most precious possession - and yet the sleep that she yearned for refused to come. Her body ached and her heart continued to hurt, despite the numbing bliss of her fractured thoughts - plus the branches that poked through the blankets and the hard ground were so very different...

And yet that was before Legolas began to hum. The melody was soft and soothing, the tones rich and clear. No words were spoken, and yet Buffy felt as though she was listening to a story - a story that told of peace and sadness, of long memories and eased burdens. It was a melody that spoke of rest and of soothing the weary heart, and within minutes, Buffy succumbed to the soft spell and drifted into sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Equinoxium: Chapter 7  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note**:You'll notice quite a few Sindarin (the language of the Elves) words and phrases in this chapter. The definitions and meanings behind them can all be found at the end of the chapter, as well as the continuation of these notes.

* * *

Sighing softly, Buffy felt the tendrils of her dreams slowly fade away as the waking morn began to speak to her deadened senses. There was always so much to be done that when the first vestiges of sleep began to fade, she greedily clung to them for as long as humanly possible. Too soon Dawn would be barging into the room, scores of Potentials upon her heels, or else Xander complaining about the gaggle of girls that followed his every step through the house. It didn't matter who would soon come through her door, for inevitably, someone always did, always talking about _something_ that needed her attention, no matter how much she'd rather curl into a ball and let the world slip away. Today was bound to be no different then any other. The girls would need to be given some sort of task before she left for work, and she still had to talk to Robin about his mother's bag - especially if he knew anything about the locked box that Dawn had mentioned the previous evening. They also had to find out where Giles had disappeared to this time. After all, if they didn't have time for dating, as her watcher had so sternly stated, then they certainly didn't have time for him to be pulling a disappearing act every few days. They needed to be kept abreast of what he was-

And why in the hell were there birds in her bedroom? And when did her bed get so unbelievably hard and... lumpy?

Bolting upright, Buffy clutched her meager blanket to her chest as her wild green eyes took in the weak, pre-dawn light. The morning was chilly and a thick mist had settled between the trees, blanketing the forest with its dark shroud and causing the world to become muffled beneath its dewy grasp. Confused, she looked around the wooded setting in growing alarm, her eyes skipping over the scorched wood of a cold fire pit until her eyes landed upon the unmoving forms of Thoron and Mirdan, stretched out upon twin sleeping rolls across from her own - and froze as the previous day's events came crashing back with a force that left her shaking.

Giles.

The First.

Whistler.

The Turok-hans.

Her goodbye.

Gasping, Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat - and then expel itself far too quickly as she greedily gasped for more air. In seconds, she began to hyperventilate as she remembered everything that she had forgotten in the bliss of sleep. She remembered all of the pain, the loss, and everything that the Powers That Be had forced upon her. She remembered the elves and-

Frowning, Buffy felt the uncomfortable pull of her overwrought emotions slam into sudden silence as she gazed curiously at Mirdan's sleeping form. He was as beautiful in sleep as he was in life, with his perfectly chiseled bones creating an array of features that were positively breathtaking... and yet something was wrong with the picture.

Kicking her tangled blanket aside, Buffy silently abandoned her bed and slowly crawled around the fire until she was perched on her knees beside the sleeping elf. He truly was beautiful - almost ethereal as his pale skin shone in the weak light, as beautiful in sleep as he was in life... in life. Blinking stupidly, Buffy suddenly realized what was so wrong with this picture as her eyes lifted from his slightly parted lips, past the graceful arch of his nose, and locked upon his wide, unblinking brown eyes.

Blanching, Buffy jerked back as if she had been slapped, the vision of Mirdan somehow merging with the face of her mother's on the afternoon that she had found her sprawled on the couch, dead from an aneurysm with her eyes forever locked in that same, wide-eyed gaze. Gasping, Buffy quickly pulled away, tripping over her coat in her haste as she fell on her backside and slammed against something that was soft and unyielding. Feeling a scream building in her throat as a warm hand fell upon her shoulder, the petite slayer quickly twisted aside and raised her hands defensively before her - and froze as she found Legolas crouched in front of her, his blue eyes softened in concern and his hands held peacefully before him.

"Buffy?" he murmured cautiously, his eyes tracing over her lined, panicked features.

"I... I think that your friend is-"

"That is how elves sleep," Legolas interrupted, a knowing smile lifting his lips. "He walks in elven dreams."

Uncertain, Buffy slowly turned away from the prince and looked back towards Mirdan - and frowned as she found him sitting up, his dark eyes curiously watching their exchange. "I thought that he-"

"I know," Legolas stated, cutting in once more as he gently placed a hand on Buffy's tensed shoulder. "I have traveled with mortals before, and each time it is the same," he continued, thinking fondly of the hobbits' reactions when they first encountered Elven sleep - and the near pandemonium that ensued.

"Mortals?" Buffy returned, her interest peaked at the word as she slowly stood, absently brushing the dirt from her pants and jacket. "As in I'm the mortal and you guys... aren't?"

"No, we are not mortal," he confirmed, shaking his head slightly as both Mirdan and Thoron, awakened by their conversation, began to break camp around them.

"Which makes you immortal," Buffy clarified as Legolas turned away and began to pack his own meager belongings. "As in you can't die?"

"Death can still claim us," Legolas countered as he paused in his work, his mind unconsciously flitting past the memory of the many elves that he had lost during the past five hundred years. "Whether it be by mortal wound or by grief, we do die. Yet it is not the death of mortals," he stated as he once more returned to his packing.

"What do you mean, not the death of mortals?" Buffy asked as she knelt down to help him roll the blankets that she had been using, her eyes never once straying from the elf that she questioned.

Sighing, Legolas paused once more as he settled back on his haunches, finally realizing that she would not stop asking her questions until her curiosity had been satisfied. "No one knows what happens to a mortal soul when Men die, but Elves? Our _fa_, or soul, as Men would call it, travels to the Halls of Mandos in the Undying Lands, in Valinor, to await the end of time, or until a time when we are ready to be reborn. In the end, no matter how an elf comes to Valinor, be it through a ship to the West or via the Halls of Mandos, the fate of all elves lies across the sea," he explained as his eyes turned wistfully towards something that only he could see, a small smile pulling at his lips as though he listened to a beautiful melody that was just beyond her hearing.

For a moment, Buffy thought about answering the big question of what comes next for her people, from her own personal experience and all, but then quickly decided that it would lead to more questions than she had the heart to answer at the moment. Instead, she sorted through the information as she absently worried her bottom lip. "So unless you're killed, you don't..."

Sighing, Legolas forcefully allowed Buffy's words to pull him from the sea's incessant call. "No, we do not know sickness, nor do our bodies age beyond what you see now," Legolas affirmed as he gestured with his hand, indicating himself and his companions, all the while refusing to mention the one sickness that could haunt an elf's spirit - the sickness of the sea-longing that would haunt him until he bowed beneath the weight of its siren call.

"Which means that you guys are pretty old, aren't you?" she asked as she turned to include the other two elves in her observations. Grinning, Buffy once more bit her tongue as she thought about vocalizing the apparent comparisons between elves and vampires, and instead decided to stick to a safer track. "Like you," she stated as she turned and nodded towards Legolas. "Not so old. But you?" she continued as she nodded toward Mirdan, who was watching the exchange with curious brown eyes. "Getting way older. And you?" she finished as she jerked her chin in Thoron's direction, a slow, taunting smile lifting her lips. "I'm guessing you rank right up there with old as dirt."

As Mirdan smothered a beautiful laugh, and as Thoron snorted softly before returning to his duties, Legolas beamed at the young woman. "You are correct," he affirmed as he curiously eyed the petite woman. "Thoron was born some time during the First Age, nearly seven thousand years ago, and is a contemporary of my father. Mirdan, on the other hand, was born at the beginning of the Third Age, over three thousand years ago, while I was born towards the end of the Watchful Peace, close to six hundred years ago."

"Which would make you the baby of the group," Buffy stated as she grinned cheekily at the blond-haired elf. "And yet," she continued, a thoughtful frown pulling at her lips, "you're the one in charge, aren't you? I guess that age isn't everything here either, is it?" she sighed, as her thoughts once more drifted away. How many times had she led her friends into battle? In many cases, she was the youngest of them all, and yet Angel had bowed to her leadership, as had Giles and Spike many times after. Amazing what a Calling could do to increase the faith in one's leadership abilities.

"But how did you know?" Legolas asked as he quizzically looked to the delicate-looking young woman that sat perched before him. "Most mortals cannot look past what is on the surface to see what is beneath."

"The eyes," Buffy returned as she openly met his gaze - this time refusing to look away as she once more felt the full-weight of an elven stare. "They give you away every time," she murmured as she felt the ageless weight of his gaze. "Every time it's in the eyes."

* * *

Ever so slowly the wind shifted through the tall trees, causing the branches laden with the vividly colored leaves to bend and turn, tickling one another while simultaneously reaching for the sky that was forever out of their reach. Lightly, their song spoke of a peace that many of the trees hadn't known in far too long as the elves' course drew them ever southward and into the parts of the forest that had long been held under Sauron's dark sway. Even Buffy began to notice the change as the once-majestic trees began to lose their luster as their branches blocked more and more of the sun from the trodden-ground beneath. Sauron was gone, but the twisted, gnarled branches of the recovering trees were yet another sign of the lasting damage that the Dark Lord had wrought before he was vanquished by the strong will of two small hobbits - a story that Buffy was only slowly learning, piece by slow piece.

"So you're sure that this Sauron guy is really gone for good this time?" Buffy asked as Sador moved so quietly over the leaf-strewn ground that it was as though the horse was as light as the elf that rode before her. "As in gone-gone? I mean, did you grind his bones into dust, because I've found that to be helpful in getting rid of pesky Evil," she continued as Legolas sighed once more, purposefully ignoring Mirdan's quiet snickering.

"Yes, quite sure," the blond-haired elf repeated for the fourth time in the past hour as he ruefully shook his head. "Besides, Sauron had no physical form in this last battle," he added - and then stiffened as his ears picked up the soft murmurings of the nearby river.

Easily feeling the tension that rippled through her companion and caused Sador to shift nervously beneath them, Buffy instinctively started reaching for the sword that was strapped to her back before she realized that neither Legolas nor the other two elves seemed to be going for their own weapons. Frowning, she slowly returned her hand to its place at Legolas' side as she shifted until she was looking around his lean frame, her green eyes piercing the gloom and searching out whatever had caused the elf to start in the first place. "What is it?" she asked, noting that for the first time since they had left the Elvish 'path,' the trees were parted before them, their path cut by the winding, wending trail of a narrow river, with a simple wooden bridge spanning the width.

"Oh, thank God," Buffy muttered as she slid from the horse, her hands instinctively sliding down to massage her aching limbs. "My butt was calling for a break," she sighed as she half walked, half wobbled to the river - and then paused as her eyes took in the dark, murky waters that drifted past the grassy bank. "So what's this one called?" she asked as she carefully knelt on the damp bank, wincing as her aching limbs protested the movement.

"It is the Enchanted River," Legolas stated as he slowly slid from the horse, his eyes drifting over the familiar banks as his two companions shifted pensively beside him.

"The Enchanted River? That's it?" Buffy returned, completely ignorant to the concerned glances of Thoron and Mirdan, and oblivious of Legolas' pained expression as she worked to twist her loosened hair behind her, quietly wondering how long she could go without breaking her sole elastic hair band. "No funky Elven name that I can't pronounce?" she continued as she fiddled with the elastic twist and then began bending towards the dark waters. "So why couldn't you have kept it simple with your Elmo Mountains-" she began, only to fall silent as Legolas wrapped his long hands around her smaller ones and pulled them away from the water's touch so sharply that were she anyone but the Slayer, she was sure that the digits would have been bruised by his fierce grip.

"It is not wise, nor safe to touch the waters of the Enchanted River," he stated, his voice so low and solemn - so dark and full of something unexplained that Buffy could only stare at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing before she slowly wrenched her hands free.

"Why?" she asked as she cradled her fingers against her, unconsciously drawing away from the normally kind and gentle creature that she had only known for the past day.

"Because the blood of my _naneth_ runs through these waters," he stated, his words so low that she could barely make out his whispered statement. Closing his eyes as though pained by something that she could not see, he then turned and walked away - his back straight and rigid against whatever demons assailed him.

"Who?" Buffy returned, her mind spinning as she turned to the other two elves for aid.

Sighing softly, Mirdan slowly shook his head as he, too, looked away from the waters as though the very sight pained him. "The Queen of Mirkwood was killed here over five hundred years ago at the end of the Watchful Peace - her blood spilled into these very waters," he stated as he turned to brush his fingers through Sador's mane, working to comfort the unsettled horse. "We lost our Queen that day, and indirectly, the Crown Prince as well. The river has never forgotten the horror that polluted its depths, and has been as you see now ever since. Any of those who touch or drink the water fall into an enchanted sleep."

"The Queen of Mirkwood?" Buffy returned as she quickly scooted back, away from the dark waters. "You mean Legolas'-" she broke off as her eyes widened with understanding, obviously making the connection between Queen and Prince far too quickly. "Oh."

"Indeed," Mirdan stated, his words a soft sigh as he turned and watched as Legolas flitted into a familiar, towering tree that was older than the elf prince himself. It was a tree that had withstood the test of time and the horrors that had been unleashed beneath its boughs - yet it was a tree that would never forget the elfling that had found comfort and safety in its branches on a summer day, so many hundreds of years before...

* * *

_With a careless grace, the towering trees bowed and dipped in the light summer breeze, adding a lovely cadence to the elves' voices as they boldly sang to the beautiful day. Humming softly to himself, the small elfling added his own voice to those of his nana and her ladies, his hands moving the beautifully carved squirrel through the long, bright green grass that blanketed the forest floor beneath him. To his right the clear waters of the river rushed past his location, singing over the smooth rocks and cooling the feet of the Queen's guard, while the towering forest gently swayed to his left._

_Slipping a small, pink tongue between his lips, the tiny elfling carefully lifted his carved deer and caused it to prance through the greens, drawing ever closer to the unsuspecting squirrel and its innocent play. Then, with great speed the deer vaulted over the wooden squirrel, startling the woodland animal and causing it to hide behind its friend, the carved wooden eagle._

_"Legolas, do be careful with those," his mother admonished lightly as one of her maidens, Ernelle, weaved a wreath of flowers into her long, dark hair. "Your brother only finished them last night, and I think that Brierend would be quite disappointed to find his careful work brought to ruin so soon."_

_"Yes, Nana," Legolas promptly responded as he turned a brilliant, innocent smile towards his mother - and then proceeded to continue the animals' play in the long grasses - at least until his tummy gave a sound that was more befitting the large bear that lay hidden, awaiting for his friend the deer to return to him. Frowning, the young elfling quickly abandoned his beautiful toys and turned once more towards his mother, his large blue eyes fixing on the white flowers that now adorned his mother's hair._

_"Nana, when is Ada coming?" he asked as he crawled forward until he was scooped into his mother's warm, familiar embrace, his hands absently twining themselves in the deep folds of her white dress. "I am very hungry."_

_Laughing delightedly, the queen dropped feather-light kisses along her son's golden-blond hair as her ladies lifted their voices in another song. "He should be along very soon, tithen-min, and then we shall eat," she assured as she gently ran her long, pale fingers along the soft curve of his chin, still round with childish innocence as her thoughts turned to her husband and king. "And I believe that he is even bringing your brother, Brierend, with him," she added as she turned to throw a teasing look towards her other serving lady that had joined them this fine day, a blush staining Alantielle's cheeks._

_Following her queen's gaze, Ernelle quickly shook her head, her long chestnut hair framing her mischievous features. "Whatever will the kingdom do without their king and crown prince on an afternoon as beautiful as this?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with teasing laughter._

_"Now really, Ernelle. I am sure that between the two princes, the kingdom will continue to stand upon our return," Alantielle stated as she arched a fine brow at her friend. "They have nearly four thousand years of experience between the two of them - surely that must count for something."_

_Sighing softly, the queen quickly shook her head at her ladies, her blue eyes twinkling in the afternoon light. "I am impressed," she stated as she absently began rebraiding the fine locks of her son's hair, a smile playing at her lips as she thought of her two middle sons. "I am merely hoping for the kingdom to still exist upon our return. To find it standing would be an unexpected, yet welcome surprise."_

_Overhearing the queen's light words, the Queen's Guard joined in the light-hearted banter, the voices of the small grouping of elves mingling with the quiet, muted song of the forest. The idea for the picnic had been Legolas', and after the growing darkness that was building to the far south of their kingdom, the Queen had embraced the idea with relish - eager to lighten her husband and son's spirits in this little way. The clearing that they had chosen was a short distance from the palace, amidst the splendor of the forests of Eryn Galen and beside the beautifully churning river that wended from north to south through the mighty forest._

_Humming softly, the queen absently listened as the warriors and Ernelle continued to banter and tease young Alantielle while Legolas curled into her soothing embrace, his eyes growing heavy as the warm sun beat down upon them. It was a glorious afternoon - a beautiful day, and all was well with-_

_"What is it, Legolas?" the queen murmured as she felt her child stiffen in her arms, his breath catching in his throat. Gently she tipped his chin until his wide, frightened blue eyes were locked upon her own, his small body quivering within her warm embrace. "Legolas?"_

_"The trees are very frightened," the little elfling whispered, his hands bunched into tiny fists in the voluminous fabric of her summer gown._

_Instantly the queen felt her heart grow cold as she waved at the others for silence, her head tilting back as she frantically strained her hearing towards the forest's song - and then grew puzzled as she heard naught but the harmonious undertones of the gentle cadence. "Are you sure, tithen-min?" she asked as the others grew silent, their faces both curious and wary as they watched the exchange between mother and child. "Are you sure of what you hear?" she asked as her son's small body began to shake within her arms, responding to something that only he could hear - a fact that wasn't too surprising. After all, queen though she was, it was a bond that had been formed by marriage - not blood. At heart, she was no more than a simple Silvan elf who carried none of her husband's Sindarin lineage. Legolas and his brothers, however, shared the deep bond that her husband held with their forest - with all of Arda. Therefore, if her son claimed that the trees were frightened, in her mind, the trees were frightened - a fact that carried ill bodings for her and her companions._

_Sniffling as large tears began to pool in Legolas' eyes before trailing down pale cheeks, the little elfling clutched at his mother. "Now they are crying," he stated, his child's heart breaking at the sadness that he heard within the trees. "They cry because we do not hear their voices. They cry because we have not heard their warnings. They cry because it is too late," he stated as the queen hastily climbed to her feet, holding her son against her._

_"Rienan," she called, her blue eyes lifting to the Captain of her guard, her voice carrying a shrill note that had never before tainted her sweet, musical voice. "Rienan, something dark comes this way," she stated as her ladies quickly gained their feet, their large eyes darting between their queen and the small, terrified child that she clutched to her bosom._

_"But my queen, I hear naught-" the dark-haired guard began, his startled words becoming lost as the forest erupted around them. It was as though a curtain had been dropped - a dark spell finally released - as with a booming crescendo the trees' warnings were finally unveiled as they cried to the firstborn about the threat that was nearly upon them. The threat that _was_ upon them. They were too few to fight the enemy that approached, and there was no time to run or to take to the trees. The plan had been masterfully wrought as the warnings of the trees had come too late. In the end, there was no time but for one final, desperate act._

_"Nana!!" Legolas screamed, his hands pressing against his delicately pointed ears as the trees' cries grated at his sensitive hearing. He was but a child - a child that had never known darkness nor fright - had never known naught but the beautiful, lulling and soothing song of the forest. In comparison, the harsh cries were as frightening to him as the warnings themselves - even more so when he saw the fear that was etched into the faces of the adults that began reaching for their weapons._

_"Shh, my Little Greenleaf," the Queen quickly whispered as she turned to the large oak that towered above her and her son. Stretching, she lifted her youngest child towards the lowest branch as the tree lowered the lumbering arm towards her. "You must stay quiet for me now," she urged, her words frantic as her son crawled onto the thin branch and pressed himself against the protective nook of the large tree, his green tunic and brown leggings camouflaging him from even the most keen of eyes. "Very, very quiet," she continued as she tried to smile bravely at the terrified child, knowing it was the only thing that she had left to offer to her youngest. "Can you do that for me, in-nin?"_

_Slowly, the child nodded his blond head, his wide eyes growing impossibly large as the first of the orc troop left the covering of the wood to engage the three guards that stood before his mother and her two ladies. They were creatures of which night terrors were made - large and black with smiles that were filled with pointed, crooked teeth that seemed perfect for eating small elflings. Yet this was no dream - no night terror from which he could wake and find comfort in his ada and nana's arms. This was real - and in a way, he knew that there was no going back to that simple innocence._

_"No matter what happens, I need for you to stay hidden here in the tree," the Queen repeated, her terrified eyes drifting back as one of the guards took mortal wound and fell with a scream that ripped at her heart. "Just stay very quiet and very hidden. Can you do that for me?"_

_Once more Legolas slowly nodded his head, the tears coursing down his chubby cheeks as another of the guards fell before the orcs' brutality. "But Nana," he began, his hand stretched anxiously towards his mother, somehow believing that if he could reach her, just hold her to him..._

_"I love you, in-nin," the Queen returned, tears wetting her own pale cheeks as she turned away from her son and started forward - only to draw back as Rienan and Ernelle fell, leaving naught but she and Alantielle before the disfigured horde that stood before them. Gasping, the queen stumbled back as Alantielle pushed herself before her queen, the young elf-maiden's eyes tinged with sorrow._

_"Run my queen. Run and never look back," she whispered as she brandished a small, ornamental dagger that had been drawn from the waistband of her gown and held it before the orcs that threatened them with long, blood-painted swords. It was a battle that could never be won, and both knew this as the elf maiden darted forward, viciously parrying one blow and disarming an orc as another stepped in and delivered the killing blow._

_"Alantielle!" the queen gasped, stepping forward as the young maiden fell back against her, causing them to both tumble to the blood-stained ground. "No, Alantielle!" she whispered as her hand brushed at the still face of her eldest son's betrothed. This would break his heart and as only a mother could, she knew it would be more than he would be able to bear. Her son was strong, but his love was stronger... and without Alantielle, or without his mother... and if Legolas..._

_Gasping, the queen lifted her tear-stained face and glared at the orcs that began to encircle her, their eyes slanted in hatred and their nostrils quivering at the smell of so much spilled blood. She had never before seen an orc, her husband and sons ensuring that their wife and mother would never have to see the darkness that was beginning to encroach upon their lands after so many hundreds of years of peace - and yet the creatures were as unmistakable to her as if they had haunted her dreams every night for centuries. In seconds, her fear was replaced by a deep, instinctual hatred for those that had brought harm upon her family as she dove for the sword that had been dropped by the felled creature, her hands wrapping around its scarred hilt as she rolled to her knees and brought the sword up and before her, blocking the blow that had been aimed at her neck. They all knew that she would never be able to survive this fight, but if there was one thing that she had learned from her husband and her sons, it was that to give up was inconceivable._

_Gritting her teeth, the queen pushed against the blade that was locked against her own, the shrill sound of the metals singing against one another as they slid free. She darted to her feet, her blood-stained dress slapping wetly against her lithe frame as she called upon the skills of the firstborn to dance and weave amongst the foul creatures. Yet despite the rage that gave her the strength to fight the grief that threatened to cloud her senses, the battle was all too short as the creatures encircled her once more, their blades finding flesh as they cut thin, fiery trails along her arms, legs, and chest as they slowly pushed her until she was balanced on the bank of the shallow river._

_Gasping, the Queen felt her blood blanket her body in warm rivulets as the sword finally slipped from her hand and fell onto the bank beside her. Hot tears blurring her vision, she felt apart from the scene as the orcs cruelly laughed and mocked her, their grating words tearing at her soul as her empty eyes looked past them and into the tree that held her youngest son. He had done so well - had stayed so quiet for her, just as she had asked._

_"What will the elf-king do without his queen?"_

_Her soothing disattachment viciously torn away by the grating Westron of the orc before her, the queen turned hollow eyes towards the gruesome beast, her mind belatedly trying to make sense of his spoken words. Yet it was only as the orc drove his sword forward, slicing through skin, muscle and tissue and impaling her upon its sharp blade, did she finally understand the significance of his words._

_This was no random attack, so far beyond the borders of their lands._

_The orcs knew who they were attacking._

_They knew who she was._

_She had been their intended target all along, and by using some dark magic, they had been able to silence the forest to cloak the approaching darkness until it had been far too late._

_The Necromancer had struck its first major blow against her husband... by taking from him his wife._

_Mouth falling open in soundless protest, the Queen looked down at the sword that held her aloft, her blood staining her ruined dress in a widening circle over her abdomen. Turning her head, she then directed her eyes to the tree that held her son, her eyes looking past the leaves and locking with her baby's wide blue eyes. "Legolas," she whispered, her final plea as the sword was twisted and then ripped free, finally releasing the queen as she fell back with a billow of stained cloth, the shallow river accepting her body as her blood stained the water with its passing._

_In that moment, the small elfling that found comfort and refuge in the arms of the towering oak felt his tenuous hold on this world crumble. He had watched as the nightmare creatures had cut deep with their strange swords, causing the guards and his nana's lady to fall to the ground, their faces twisted in silent screams and their eyes wide as though asleep. And yet somehow Legolas knew that they were not asleep. They were not walking the shadowed paths of Elvish dreams._

_Small body shaking, he had watched as Alantielle fell - the gentle elf maiden that was to become his sister later that fall. She had never teased him like his brothers, and had even given him treats when Brierend was not looking. Yet now she was lying on the ground, alone and forgotten with her brown eyes looking at something that he could not see. And his nana..._

_Breath catching in his throat, Legolas found that he could not look past his mother's still form. Even as the nightmare creatures crushed his carved toys beneath their heavy feet, their black words causing the trees to cry out in agony, his eyes never once left his mother's still face. She was partly in the water and he knew that she wouldn't want to stay there, with her beautiful dress all wet and being tugged at by the swift current. She was all wet and she would get cold in the water, with her face so pale as the water washed the red blood away. Her feet were tangled in the long grasses that lined the banks, and the young elfling knew that the grasses would tickle her skin - and yet she seemed not to care. She didn't rise to free her ankles, nor did she wring the water from her skirts. Even as the orcs left their clearing and silence once more settled upon the wood, the trees' melody muted with sorrow, she did not stir. Even when a lone dragonfly settled on her wet cheek, she never lifted a hand to brush it away. Yet instead of reaching for the mother that was just beyond his reach, Legolas found himself drawing away, retreating into a place where no one could find or hurt him - where the nightmare creatures could not go._

_Silent and alone, Legolas remained hidden in his tree, his eyes never straying from his mother, her dark hair billowing about her pale face as she lay so still in the cool river, now dark with the blood that ran through its waters._

_Silent and alone, the young prince remained quiet and hidden as the hours passed unnoticed, his still features never changing - even as his father's party finally rode into view._

_King Thranduil was grim, tall and stern as his eyes swept over the slaughtered party of elves, his guard silent beside him as he slid from his tall horse and slowly stepped through the melee. He remained thus until his eyes finally found his wife amongst the carnage. In that moment, the facade was broken as his poise crumbled, his breath becoming painfully locked in his chest as his sharp gray eyes found her spread in the unnaturally dark waters. "Nienna," he whispered, his beloved's name catching in his throat as he took one halting step forward, followed by another and another until he was wading brokenly into the river, his hands desperately curling into the heavy, water-logged fabric of his wife's dress as he tried to carry her back to the river's bank._

_Horrified, Brierend, the Crown Prince of Eryn Galen, looked to his mother and father with wide, unblinking eyes as his friend, Mirdan, came to his side. "Naneth?" he whispered, the words stripped from his lips as he took one halting step forward - only to feel his legs quiver beneath him as his gaze fell upon the sightless eyes of Alantielle. "Melethin," he gasped as he staggered to the side of his betrothed and lifted her body against his._

_Eyes pressed tight with grief, Mirdan gently laid a hand on his prince's stooped shoulder as his friend became lost to the world around them, the crown prince's eyes never straying from the elf maiden's blood-streaked face. In moments the glade became silent save for the grief-filled, choked sobs of the two members of the royal family - a silence that was broken once more as King Thranduil suddenly lifted his head, his gray eyes piercing._

_"Where is Legolas?" he demanded as his eyes swept past the bodies of Rienan, Ernelle, and the other two guards. "Where is my son?" he asked, his voice shaking as he turned towards his guards. In seconds the elves were scattered far and wide as they scoured the nearby wood for the missing prince, their eyes falling to the tracks that littered the ground as they searched for signs of the youngest son of Thranduil - their hearts clenched with the thought that something ill had befallen the innocent elfling._

_One elf, however, took a different view as he turned his eyes to the trees. In moments he found himself standing below a towering oak that stood beside the riverbed, his eyes locked upon the small, quivering form that remained hidden amongst the branches. "My Lord," Thoron called quietly, his brown eyes never straying from the child as he alerted his King to his find._

_In seconds Thranduil was beside his most-trusted advisor as his eyes lifted to the trees and settled upon his son, the elfling seemingly unaware of their very presence. For a moment, the king merely stood on the blood-stained ground below, his eyes locked on his youngest child as he began to understand all that the small child had witnessed. Shattered heart clenching painfully in his chest, he leapt lightly into the tree, moving slowly and cautiously forward until he was kneeling before his son. Tenderly he reached down and gathered the unresisting elfling into his arms and then settled back against the trunk of the tree, his child cradled against him. And there they remained, locked in their grief and misery._

* * *

Sighing softly, Legolas gently rested his hand against the rough bark of the ancient tree, grown somewhat gnarled and dark because of the darkness that had stretched into these parts centuries ago. For the longest time, many had been worried that he would never recover from all that he had witnessed that day. Yet they had forgotten about the blessings of youth, for he had been too young to fully understand all that had happened. While the memories of that day were as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday, he had been gifted with over five hundred years to try and understand all that had passed. His eldest brother, Brierend, had not been so fortunate.

With ties so strong that they bound him so to Middle-earth, the Crown Prince had been unable to escape his pain by traveling to Valinor, and within a year, he had finally succumbed to his grief and had faded into death. That day the Necromancer had struck a mighty blow against the Elven realm of _Eryn Galen_, and against _Imladris_ as well, when they targeted Lord Elrond's wife. Yet in some cruel, twisted way, Lord Elrond and his children had been lucky, for although Celebran had been so injured, both in spirit and body, by her captivity by the orcs that she had left for the Undying Lands not long after, they would always be gifted with the chance to be reunited with her in Valinor. His family had not been so fortunate, for as a direct result of that day, they had not only lost their Queen and mother, but the Crown Prince and brother as well. Yes, one day they would be reunited - but that day was uncertain and could stretch until the ends of time.

Shaking his dark thoughts away, Legolas abandoned the thick branch and fell lightly to the forested ground below. His kind may have been blessed with an immortal lifespan, but they were cursed with a memory that time never faded and a grief that would forever be biting. He was the youngest of his kind in Middle-earth, and already he had known much darkness and sorrow. Too much, he thought as he settled on the grassy banks before the Enchanted River. Far too much.

Legolas slowly turned his head away from the dark waters - and started as he found Buffy perched silently beside him, her eyes locked on the river that rushed before them. As Aragorn and Gimli would attest, it was nearly impossible to surprise an elf - and yet the small girl beside him had settled within inches of him, and he had been none the wiser. Frowning softly, he watched her for a moment, wondering at her intrusion before slowly turning back to the dark waters.

Silence descended upon him as Legolas struggled with the painful memories that this place always managed to invoke - and then he turned as Buffy shifted noisily beside him. For a moment she worried her lip as her hand pressed against the lining of her long jacket - and then it was as though she had finally made a decision of sorts as she parted the flaps and pulled a small, square piece of shiny parchment from an inner pocket.

"Would you like to see my family?" Buffy asked as she fingered the glossy photograph, her fingers tenderly working at the bent corners as she smiled hesitantly at the elf beside her.

For a moment, Legolas merely looked to her in confusion as she gently delivered the parchment into his hands, as though it was the most fragile and valuable object in all of Middle-earth. Turning, he looked towards the parchment - and felt his breath catch in his throat as it was as though he was looking into a glass that showed the frozen, smiling faces of a small grouping of _Edain_ dressed in the strangest of clothing. Amazed, he tentatively turned the paper over, half expecting to see the people somehow transported beneath - and frowned as he found a plain white backing. "What magic is this?" he whispered as he turned it once more, his eyes eagerly devouring the smiling faces before narrowing upon one who could be none other than the girl that sat beside him. "This painting-"

"It's called a photograph," Buffy broke in, a fond smile pulling at her lips as she scooted a bit closer to the elf so that they could look at the picture together. "This is Xander," she started as she pointed at her friend's goofy, smiling face from where he was perched on the corner of the couch in the living room, the bay window boarded up behind him. "This is Willow and Spike - and that's Anya, Xander's ex-fiance, and Dawn, my little sister. And that... that's me and Giles," she murmured, her smile becoming slightly pained as she gently traced Giles' tall, smiling features and the arm that was casually slung over her shoulders. "This is my family."

**Author's Note (cont.):** For the records, the character of Legolas was one of the few that was never truly fleshed out in Tolkien's tales. While we can trace the family history of Aragorn, many of the Noldor, Gimli and the likes back to the First Age, we know very little of Legolas. His mother is never mentioned - nor any other siblings. Thus, his heritage has been a source of great debate in the LoTR circles and many authors have offered their own views of what makes up the royal family of Mirkwood. This happens to be my own, twisted view - one among many. I hope that you enjoyed this glimpse into the past.

_Naneth: Mother  
Nana: Mommy  
Ada: Daddy  
tithen-min: little one  
Eryn Galen: Greenwood the Great - original name of Mirkwood before Sauron spread his darkness and corrupted the wood  
in-nin: my son  
Melethin: Beloved_


	8. Chapter 8

**Equinoxium: Chapter 8  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Many more hours passed that day, once the river had been crossed, and as the afternoon darkened into twilight and the sky came ablaze with the fiery light of the coming night, the travelers once more called a halt as a new clearing was found in the dark, twisted heart of Mirkwood. Within minutes Mirdan had gathered the three horses to him as he whispered soft Elvish words to the beautiful steeds, his hands working the tangles from their manes as he saw to their needs. Thoron, meanwhile, once more disappeared into the darkening wood as he sought the fuel to that night's fire. Which, once more, left Legolas and Buffy huddled before the barren hearth that Legolas had created.

"So... what's Thoron's deal, anyway?" the petite slayer asked as she helped the elf to clear the leaves from the small circle that he had created.

"His... deal?" Legolas returned, his eyes seeking her gaze in the growing gloom. Ever since she had shared her foe-toe-graph by the river's edge, a sort of understanding seemed to have formed between them. Her eyes were unlike many of the _edain_ that he had encountered in his many travels these past few years, shadowed and darkened with pain and loss as they were. Her shoulders were bent beneath a mighty weight - a weight that was reflected in the age of her green eyes - eyes that were so reminiscent of Aragorn that it served to soften the differences between them. They were strangers still, and yet they had somehow crossed that boundary as they sat by the river's edge. She knew of the loss that had defined him for so many ages - the loss that had made him the elf that he was today. In return, she had given him a glimpse into a world that he could not comprehend - a world that was brightened with love and shadowed with so much loss. While he didn't think that he would ever be able to claim that he could completely understand the darkness and the shadows that lined her gaze, he now felt that he had a better understanding... an understanding that could still be lost amongst the tangles of her odd words and phrasings. "I do not understand," Legolas admitted after a moment's pause as he tried and failed to somehow translate this new meaning.

"What's his problem? With me?" Buffy clarified as she turned her eyes away from Legolas' piercing gaze. "I mean, it's obvious that we have issues. I'm just not quite clear on the 'why' behind the moody elf fits," she admitted as she brushed her hands against the smooth leather of her pants, grimacing at the dirty stain of her tanned skin. What she wouldn't give for a shower... or even a body of un-enchanted water... or any water, really. The more time that she spent in the wilds, the more Buffy began to miss the small, creature comforts of home that she had always taken for granted. Like clean water to bathe the grime from one's body, for example.

Oblivious to Buffy's scattered thoughts, Legolas slowly turned his eyes away. "I see," he murmured, understanding enough of the strange phrasing to see the question that Buffy was really asking. However, the answer that she was seeking was not as simple as she might have thought. Frowning, he turned back to building the fire ring as he slowly shook his head. "It is nothing-"

"Personal. Yeah, I get that," Buffy cut in with an airy wave of her hand as she brushed his words away. "He's been this antisocial and anti-Buffy since I first got here, so it can't really be anything that I've said or done," she stated, rolling back until she was sitting on the leaf-blanketed ground, her knees drawn up beneath her chin as she watched the elf work. "Which begs the question - what's the what? What's really going on behind the pinched frown?"

Lips quirking at Buffy's rather... spirited description of his father's advisor, Legolas paused in his tasks as he fully turned towards the young woman that sat across the cleared earth from him. There were so many different answers that he could give her, from the inherent suspicious nature of the Mirkwood elves in general, to the more detailed views of many of his kin - especially when concerning those of mortal blood. Yet as his eyes held hers in an unblinking stare that was becoming more adept at holding the weighty gaze of the Firstborn, he began to realize that none of those explanations really did the older elf any justice at all. Thoron had walked the paths of this earth for thousands of years longer than he, had seen much in his immortal life, and Legolas himself was only privy to the smallest portion of that grand expanse of time.

"I do not believe that Thoron has had many positive experiences with Men in the past," Legolas finally explained as he drew his eyes away, a small frown pulling at his lips as he was once more reminded of his youth in comparison to all of his kin. "Actually, I do not believe that he has had much experience with Men at all since the Last Great Alliance."

"Oh," Buffy returned, frowning at the mention of yet another grand battle. From the sounds of it, the people in this world seemed to favor having at least one big blow out at the end of every age - which was generally every few thousand years. Then again, that seemed far more favorable to the yearly apocalyptic show-downs that she was accustomed to. Yet the part that gave her pause was that, according to Mirdan, she had missed the last great battle, the one known as the War of the Rings, by only nine years.

Nine years.

If they weren't due for another grand battle for another few thousand years, why was she even needed in Middle-earth? Why had the Powers That Be sent her packing to a forest in the middle of elf-land if the Big Bad had already been fought and destroyed nine years before her arrival? Did the all-knowing, higher powers screw up again? From the sounds of it, the Good Guys had won this battle - and if she wasn't needed for that, what _was_ she needed for?

Groaning, Buffy felt another headache coming on as rested her forehead against her knees, a weary sigh escaping her lips. If she ever saw Whistler again, she vowed then and there that he wasn't going to walk away from the encounter. Not after all of this. Not after-

"I have released the horses to their own pursuits for the night," Mirdan stated, his clear voice cutting through Buffy's thoughts as he settled lightly beside his prince. "Sador, especially, seemed quite eager to run through the trees this night."

"As long as he does not overexert himself, I care not," Legolas countered as Thoron returned to the small clearing, an armful of dry, twisted kindling in his arms. "We have much ground to cover tomorrow before we come to Rhosgobel."

"Speaking of which," Buffy cut in as she accepted a small piece of _lembas_ from Mirdan, "what's this Rose-Globe place like? You said that it was a town, right?"

"Rhosgobel is a settlement of Men, yes," Legolas agreed as he fed more of the dry timber into the greedy flames. "It was built around the site of what was once the home of Radagast the Brown," he added as Thoron settled lightly on the leaf-strewn ground on his other side. Already the sun was setting behind the twisted limbs of Mirkwood, casting the woods into a darkness that was deeper than the starlit night would usually warrant. Then again, they had traveled far that day and now rested just northwest of the far edge of the Mountains of Mirkwood - even if the branches of the ruined trees hid the craggy peaks from view.

"Rad-a-what?" Buffy returned, her forehead wrinkling as she fumbled over yet another strange word. "Come again," she requested as Thoron sighed audibly from the other side of the fire ring.

"Radagast the Brown," Mirdan supplied with an impish grin, his dark eyes glancing towards the older elf as the former advisor to the King began to mutter inaudibly beneath his breath. "A wizard," he clarified.

"You have wizards?" Buffy quickly asked as she absently juggled a few small berries. "Nifty! I always liked the movies, what with the cool flying brooms and the hot quidditch captain. Dawn, my sister, was all about Harry, but he's a bit young for my tastes, if you know what I mean," she stated as she popped the loose berries into her mouth, chewing the sweet fruits as her companions turned to each other in confusion, blank looks mirrored upon the three Elvish faces. "What? The Harry Potter craze hasn't hit Middle-earth yet?" she asked, smiling innocently around lips stained red from the juices of the small fruits.

A slow, quizzical smile pulling at his lips, Legolas slowly shook his head. Flying brooms indeed! Either her world was far stranger than she let on, or else she was telling tales that rivaled those of young Pippin and his cousin, Merry. "The _Maiar_, or the Istari, as they are known," Legolas continued smoothly, "are not of the race of Men - nor of any other race."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy waved away his words as she sniffed disdainfully at the implication. "Higher being. Got it," she stated, grimacing slightly as she was once more reminded of the Balance Demon who was so high on her Shit List - so high that even Ethan Rayne seemed pretty low in comparison. "So how many races do you guys have, anyway?" she continued as she curiously looked from one elf to the next. "I mean, I've seen the orc - got the shirt, or rather, the sword to prove it," she added as she patted the sheathed weapon that was laid out on the dirt beside her. "I've been hanging with the Elves, and from the sounds of it, you seem to have my people," Buffy continued as she slowly ticked the races from each slender finger. "And now we have Wizards... so what else you got?"

"The other two races that you are most likely to encounter are Dwarves and Hobbits," Legolas returned, a smile pulling at his lips as Thoron's grumblings immediately increased at the mention of the smaller races - particularly at the first.

"As in the Seven Dwarves?" Buffy asked, sitting a bit straighter as their words once more pulled her mind from her many worries and heartaches... from the memories. For a few minutes, every now and again, the conversations and the revelations were almost enough to make her forget that she had been dropped in this world like someone's useless baggage. For a moment, she could almost pretend that she was simply on an outing, away for a bit, and would return to her friends and family soon enough. It was a fantasy, and even though she knew this, Buffy clung to the peace that it allowed. Grinning, Buffy sat forward as her eyes began to sparkle with mirth. "Are they really short and like to mine?"

"Stunted would be more accurate," Thoron cut in with a disdainful sniff as he reached for his sword and began to polish the gleaming blade. "Always digging into the Earth and robbing her of her jewels."

"And you do realize where metal comes from, don't you?" Buffy returned as she pointedly looked towards the gleaming blade. "Because unless you really _do_ have shopping malls, I'm guessing that someone had to go digging for it," she added as she smiled sweetly at the dark-haired elf. She knew that she was baiting him, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Usually such a role had always been left to Xander or Anya, but with Middle-earth significantly lacking in the Scooby department, Buffy figured that she had to accommodate the loss. Well, that and it was just too much fun watching Thoron's glower deepen until his eyebrows seemed to become one dark line on his fair face, his lips twisted into a scowl that even Angel would have been proud of.

"So you have dwarves in your world?" Legolas quickly asked, his soft question breaking the growing tension that had been building between the two since the moment that Buffy had arrived. Sooner or later, he was sure that Thoron and Buffy would have to exchange words and find some way to work past their evident animosity. Yet seeing as how the aggression stemmed from his father's former advisor, the prince knew that Mordor would have a better chance of freezing over then for Thoron to ever back down. "Buffy?" he continued, his voice pulling the young woman from her staring contest as she slowly turned to acknowledge his question.

"Only the kind found in fairy tales," Buffy returned as she sent one last glare at the glowering elf. "Our dwarves come in groups of seven and protect a naive Princess from her evil Step-Mother," she added, a smile once more lifting her lips as she thought back to the Disney movie that Dawn had forced them to watch over and over again when they were children. Well, at least if Dawn had really existed and if her memories weren't all fake... which really begged the question, were the monks really that thorough or had _she_ been the one to insist upon watching the stupid movie all the time? Shuddering at the idea, Buffy turned back to her patient audience. "There was Sleepy, Doc, Dopey - don't ask, I never did - and-" she began, her smile freezing and then slipping altogether as the fine hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle.

"What is it?" Mirdan asked, his brown eyes narrowing as he took in the tense set to Buffy's shoulders.

"Remember that feeling I got right before the orcs decided to crash the party?" the slayer asked, her small hands reaching towards her sword as she quickly clambered to her feet, her eyes trying to peel back the layers of darkness that surrounded their small camp. "Well I'm getting it again," she murmured as she drew her sword from its sheath, the elves hurrying to their feet - all except for Legolas who remained by the fire, his eyes growing glazed as he tilted his head to the side, as though listening to something that only he could hear.

"Orcs come this way," he murmured, his soft voice instantly silencing Mirdan's questions as Thoron cursed and reached for his bow and quiver.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy glared at the three elves as they scurried for their weapons, watching as they instantly drew their cloaks about them and pulled their hoods around their faces, effectively casting their small camp into a debilitating darkness that was lightened only by the flickering light of their fire. "Didn't I just say that?" she demanded as Thoron deftly shimmied up the smooth trunk of the tree behind him and disappeared into the dark branches above. "And what's with your early warning system? Because trust me when I say that it's not so early," she griped as both Mirdan and Legolas turned to her, their cloaks preventing their bodies from glowing in the deepening night.

"Come, we must-"

"Get to the trees, yeah, I got the memo," Buffy groused as she shot Legolas an annoyed glare before turning to reluctantly eye the branches above. Was it only the day before yesterday that she had promised herself that next time, she was sticking to the ground?... although by the looks of it, she may not have a choice. Frowning, Buffy scanned the nearby trees, all darker, more twisted, and far more ominous than the grand trees of the last battle - and all with branches that were beyond even _her_ impressive reach. "I'm thinking that this whole going to the trees is a lot easier said than done this time around," she admitted as she walked to the lowest branch she could find - and frowned as she saw that it was a good five feet higher than the one she had been able to barely reach during the first battle. "I can't jump that," she admitted as she arched her neck to trace the path of the heavy, twisted branch.

"Can you not climb?" Mirdan demanded, his hands securing his bow and quiver behind his back as his eyes darted nervously around them. Only now was he beginning to discern the changes in the trees' song - and it wasn't a pleasant change to his sharp hearing.

"Climb?" Buffy parroted as she eyed the impossibly smooth, black bark. "How about no," she stated as she quickly shook her head, her eyes beginning to dart around the clearing as her senses began to scream in alarm. They were running out of time.

"Then I shall help you," Legolas stated as he cupped his hands before him. Seeing his lord's intentions, Mirdan left without another word and made his way towards the lowest branch. "Quickly now," Legolas added as Mirdan lithely made his way into the trees above, leaving the two alone in the darkening clearing.

Sighing softly, Buffy looked longingly at the dark shadows that beckoned just beyond the reach of their small fire before finally acceding to the elf's wishes. "Freaking feather-monkeys," she griped as she slid her sword's harness across her slender shoulders and then lifted her foot until it was resting lightly in Legolas' hand. "I sure hope you're stronger than you look," she stated, her eyes lifting to meet with Legolas' as she placed a hand on each shoulder.

"I am an elf," Legolas returned, a small, innocent smile pulling at his lips as the muscles in his legs tensed. "On three. One. Two. Three," he stated as he bent low and then heaved with all of his strength, feeling Buffy bend with him before pushing up from his upward thrust. Stepping back, he watched as she flew upwards and into the dark sky, her dark jacket fluttering around her slender frame as her hands reached ever upward. In another moment her hands were wrapped securely around the bole of the thick branch, freeing the prince to find his own way into the high branches.

"Here," Mirdan murmured as he balanced easily on the thick branch above the small human, his long arm reaching down until his hand was wrapped firmly around Buffy's wrist. Without even wavering in his precarious position, he easily lifted her by the arm and then settled her gently on the branch before him, his other hand reaching out to steady her on the slick wood.

"Thanks," Buffy muttered as she slowly backed along the branch until she was once more securely nestled against the base of a tree - and then nearly slipped as Thoron suddenly dropped onto the branch slightly above her as Legolas simultaneously appeared to her other side from below.

"I see only a small number, my Lord - fewer than the last," the older, dark-haired elf reported as his hands hurriedly reached for his bow and an arrow from the quiver on his back.

Frowning, Buffy clung to the dark, oily bark as she tried to make sense of the elf's words. "Something's off," she muttered to herself as she stretched out her senses, hardening herself against the unnatural feel of those that were almost upon them. The sensation was familiar from the day before, but if anything, it felt greater than the previous day - not lessened.

Legolas watched as the small troop of orcs clambered into view, the firelight reflecting eerily off of their black eyes as they swarmed upon their campsite. Grimacing, he watched as their filthy hands pulled at their packs, upending the contents and completely destroying whatever they touched as their comrades turned to the darkness and the trees above. "They know we are here," he stated, his heart heavy in his chest as his long fingers tightened around the comforting weight of his longbow. "We cannot stay hidden forever."

"It seems we no longer have that option," Mirdan returned dryly as one of the orcs caught sight of the small gathering of elves, its guttural voice ringing out as it pointed to the four beings in evident glee.

Instantly everything erupted in complete pandemonium as the elves scattered beneath the sudden barrage of ugly, dripping black arrows. Cursing vehemently beneath her breath, Buffy once more found herself attempting to become one with the tree that she was desperately clinging to as the arrows thwumped into the bark beside her. Yet even with the natural camouflage of her tanned leathers, it seemed as though the orcs had night vision that even she could be jealous of as their barrage fell unerringly closer to her precarious position - which was when she locked eyes with Mirdan from his position in a nearby tree.

She was a sitting duck in the tree, and they both knew it. While the Firstborn were able to effortlessly balance in the high branches and draw arrow upon the enemy, she was forced to sit and quiver beside the tree base. There were no branches that she could move to, and the bark was too smooth and oiled for her to even try to climb. She could not go up. She could not go to either side. The only place that she could go was down, and that was a place that the orcs seemed determined to bring her as another arrow pierced the bark beside her cheek.

Yet Buffy had lived for seven years as the Slayer; seven years of fighting the worst evil imaginable. If anything, while the creatures below sent her senses burning with loathing and disgust, they didn't strike fear into her heart. Instead, the sharp whistle of their short, ugly black arrows that dripped a black, tar-like substance only caused another kind of heat to build within a heart that had been shattered only days before: they built anger. Eyes narrowing into slits, Buffy scraped her back against the tree as she stood and glared down upon the mass of creatures that twisted and undulated beneath her as they tried to avoid the piercing arrows that rained from above - and then froze as her eyes caught a soft glow to her right. Turning, she felt her eyes widen as Mirdan purposely adjusted his hood, allowing the briefest flash of his glowing skin to illuminate the darkness around him before once more vanishing into the darkness.

The kind, dark-haired elf had revealed himself to their enemies in order to draw their fire upon him and to spare her from their onslaught - and it had cost him dearly. As one dark arrow found its target and ripped into soft elven flesh, a piercing cry echoed above the guttural language. With a sweeping arc, the thin shaft bore the ethereal creature from his high branch, plummeting him to the hard ground so far below where he landed in a twisted heap.

Once he fell, he did not rise again.

As Legolas and Thoron called out to their companion, panic twisting their melodic voices and drawing the orcs' fire upon their ever-changing positions, the slayer didn't waste time searching out her travel-buddies as she stepped away from the relative safety of the tree's base and allowed gravity to pull her down. Darkness, as thick and black as that which dwelt in nightmares, effectively hid the approaching ground until she had little warning, guaranteeing that her landing was not graceful nor beautiful - merely one filled with surprise and pain. Grunting, she bent to absorb the landing as best as possible, wincing as she landed hard and then rolled to the side, bowling over a few orcs as she went.

In seconds she was on her feet, sword in hand as she swept the gleaming blade in a wide arc that met with resistance as it sliced a nearby orc from shoulder to hip, felling the hideous creature as she hurried towards where she had seen Mirdan fall. With its death scream ringing in her ears, she felt as though she had landed herself in the middle of a maelstrom. There was death and chaos all around her as elven arrows cut her a narrow path through the enemies and to Mirdan's side. Yet even when she had reached the fallen elf, she had no time but to spare his pale face and the cascade of his rich brown hair more than a cursory glance before she was once more swinging her blade at the orcs that dared venture close enough to her and that which she protected.

In that timeless moment, with death surrounding her and the battle screams of the orcs tearing at her soul, Buffy once more felt truly alive.

Gone was the grief, the sadness, the heartache.

Gone was the pain, the uncertainty, the confusion.

Gone was everything that pulled her in so many directions.

Gone was Buffy Summers.

All that remained was the Slayer.

Twisting, Buffy ducked beneath the hooked blade of a large, snarling orc's sword as she pivoted on her heel and then drove her sword tip forward until it pierced the creature's thin armor and washed the gleaming blade with black blood. Lifting her foot, she planted it against the creature's plated chest, her cold eyes locking briefly on the orc's wide, hate-filled gaze as she pushed against it and pulled her blade free. Turning again in a deadly circle that cut through another orc's neck and washed the forest floor in its dark blood, she danced back and used her weapon to stop the downward sweep of a sword that was meant for Mirdan, blocking the heavy blow and planting her feet to push back the lumbering creature. Locking their blades together, she then stepped towards him, bringing her face within inches of its disfigured, sneering face - and then hooked her leg around his thick, muscular calf and pushed him off-balance so that he fell back, releasing her sword and allowing it to sweep in a tight arc that split open its front from rib to shoulder, ending its life in one swift strike. She twisted and stepped into the orc that had been charging her back, allowing it to impale itself on the weapon's bloodied tip.

Grimacing as a wave of hot, putrid air washed over her face as the creature exhaled its final breath, Buffy came back to herself with a sickening, sudden awareness that left her reeling. Gasping, she held the sword before her, effectively holding the dying creature aloft as she looked into the orc's hooded gaze as the light was forever erased from its gleaming orbs. Heart hammering against her chest, as though desperate to break free, she reflexively stepped back, pulling her blade free as the mortal wound released the blade with a wet sucking sound that echoed in the quiet night.

Quiet.

Startled, Buffy turned and finally noted the carnage that surrounded her. There were dead bodies of the fallen orcs all over their small clearing, bodies twisted around beautifully fletched arrows and others that were splayed with wide, gaping wounds that drenched the ground in oozing, black blood. It was carnage, pure and simple. The carnage of those twisted by evil - by those that never should have been. She had spilt their blood upon the dark and twisted grounds of the forests of Mirkwood, and she had done it without shame or hesitation. She had done so without thought or pause. She had done so without quip or retort. She had done so as the Slayer that the Watcher's Council had always wanted her to be - and the Slayer that she had always strived to rise above.

Her friends had kept her alive for this long. They had kept her human.

Her friends were gone.

Suddenly, Buffy was afraid of what that truly meant - not only for her heart, but for her soul.

For the first time, Buffy was afraid of what she would become.

"How is he?"

Frowning grimly, Thoron knelt beside Mirdan and gently inspected the black, stubbly arrow that protruded from Mirdan's shoulder. "Not well, my Lord. The wound is not serious," he stated as he hurriedly ripped a long length of material from his cloak and then pulled the dark arrow from the shoulder, pressing the cloth against the bloody wound. "And while the fall did not help matters," Thoron continued as he grimly glanced to where Legolas knelt beside him, "it is the poison on the arrow's tip which worries me. I fear that his wound is beyond our skill to heal."

Eyes narrowing upon the black ooze that dripped from the arrow's shaft, Legolas turned from his companions, his eyes lighting upon where Buffy stood behind them, as though lost to her own thoughts. "Buffy, gather what you can of our belongings," he ordered, his sharp words cutting through her paralysis and causing her eyes to finally focus on her surroundings. Turning, he didn't wait to see if his orders would be followed as he then lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled a sharp, piercing note that echoed through the muffled silence of the woods. Within moments three elven horses galloped into the clearing, their eyes wide and their movements skittish as they obediently moved to the prince's side. "Help me, Thoron," he urged as he bent low and gently gathered Mirdan's limp form into his arms.

Nodding curtly, the dark-haired elf hurried to his horse and leapt lightly onto the brown stallion's back. Reaching down, he then pulled the unconscious elf up until he was settled on the horse before him, Mirdan's back cradled against his chest. "We must make it to Rhosgobel," Thoron murmured, stating the obvious course as Buffy returned to their sides, her small arms filled with three hastily filled packs that she quickly helped to fasten to the horse's tall back.

"Come, Buffy," Legolas stated as he turned and hurried to his own mount, the horse's white coat reflecting the elves' weak light as Legolas helped the petite human onto Sador's back. Gently entwining his fingers in the horse's soft mane, Legolas was about to join Buffy when once more, the sharp whistle of an orc arrow broke the night stillness. Crying out in dismay, Legolas darted back as the arrow buried itself deep in Sador's haunches, causing the great horse to shriek in agony as she instinctively arched up and forward, throwing Buffy from her back and tossing her ruthlessly to the hard ground.

"No, _dartho_!" Legolas cried as his wounded horse instinctively bolted into the darkness, her agonized shrieks like little knives that stabbed into his heart.

"Legolas!" Thoron bellowed as a fresh wave of orcs burst through the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, the mass converging on Buffy's fallen form as the slayer drunkenly stumbled to her feet. "_Tol, Legolas! Enni!_" he cried, unconsciously switching back into their native language as he hurriedly beckoned his liege towards him.

"Get Mirdan out of here!" Legolas returned as he hurried to Buffy's side, blocking an orc's attack to her unprotected back with the hilt of one of his gleaming, white-handled knives.

"_U-gwannathan ir deridh!_" Thoron roared, his eyes narrowing into twin slits as he steadfastly refused to leave without his lord. "Your father ordered me to ensure your safety!"

"And _I_ am ordering you to take Mirdan from this place!" Legolas roared as Buffy finally seemed to find her footing as she lifted her blade and began to cut at the orcs that opposed them. Sighing softly, the prince took a brief moment to turn and meet the angry gaze of the older elf who was violently struggling with his protesting horse, forcing it to stay as the wave of orcs broke upon them. "_Thoron, revio! Noro ter i yrch a drego an Rhosgobel!_" he commanded, his eyes softening slightly as he ordered the elf to hurry away to the settlement of Men. What went unspoken was the tentative hope that help could be found there - even though both knew that it would be too late in coming.

For a moment more, Legolas thought that Thoron would disobey him - until an orc's arrow settled the matter for him as it clipped the frightened beast and sent it galloping into the dark night, ignoring his master's commands. Feeling a small part of his mind rest with the knowledge that at least Thoron and Mirdan had found safety, Legolas returned his full attention to the battle set before him - and felt his eyes narrow as he realized that there were too many.

"I _knew_ that there was something wrong!" Buffy grunted from beside him as she cleaved an orc's head from its shoulders with one powerful swing. "My spider sense never lies!" she shouted as she twisted and ducked beneath an answering stroke, only to find herself surrounded on all sides as the orcs' screeching bellows echoed off of the tall trees.

And she had been right. Legolas saw it so clearly now as he twirled beneath one orc's advance, his twin blades arcing around his lean form as they slashed at the abominations that surrounded him. What Thoron had seen had been a mere scouting party of the larger troupe that had answered their brethren's hideous call, and those that they now faced were a number against which he and his small human companion could stand no chance - regardless of her apparent skill. It was as though he was once more on the ramparts at Helm's Deep, or once more standing upon the barren Pelennor Fields before the mighty city of Minas Tirith... or before the Black Gate itself. He faced insurmountable odds, and this time there was no Gandalf and the missing men of Rohan, nor the Trees of Fangorn to save them. This time there was no brave little hobbit and his stalwart companion. This time, they were alone.

"You know, it's getting a bit crowded down here!" Buffy cried out as the press of orcs began to overwhelm her. It was impossible for her one sword to be in all places at once - to cover all sides and still strike against the enemy. Within minutes she had to abandon the offensive as she strove to keep their hits to a minimum - yet already she felt the cruel sting where too many blades had found her skin unprotected. She was a Slayer, the Chosen One, with the stamina to prove it - and even so, she felt the weariness begin to push upon her as three new orcs replaced each one that she managed to kill.

A sudden flare of light caught Buffy's eye, as Legolas' hood finally fell free, spilling his long blond hair about his shoulders and revealing his luminescent skin to the dark night. Instantly, it was as though someone had replaced the angry orcs with something truly ravenous as their unwavering attention fell upon the softly glowing being - and as they descended upon him with a vengeance. Frowning, Buffy felt her opponents tighten their circle around her as they choked off the one that was encasing Legolas' shimmering form as he moved wildly in the increasingly narrow space.

"Legolas!" Buffy cried out as one orc scored a hit and caused the prince to stumble slightly before resuming his lethal dance. "Why don't you... take to the trees or something?" she cried out as she instinctively began to understand the hatred that had lined the faces of her companions as they spoke of the dark creatures that continued to haunt their world. While the orcs were dark and twisted and an abomination that should never have existed, it was as though the elves were their counterparts. They were the ethereal light to the orcs' darkness. They were pure and beautiful, if somewhat cranky and arrogant, to the orcs' corrupted evil. And on some basic level, the orcs knew this - and they hated Legolas all the more for it. "Get in the trees!" she yelled as the orcs scored another hit on the weakening elf, even as her inattention cost her a new, fiery wound of her own. "They'll never be able to find you up there!"

"I... will not... leave you to face them alone!" Legolas finally returned, his breath coming between tightly clenched lips.

Grimacing, Buffy jumped back from a sword's downward arc, only to be ruthlessly shoved forward by an orc behind her. "Don't worry about me," she muttered as she swept her blade in wide arc that briefly caused the orcs to stumble back lest they feel the bite of her sword. "This is what I was born to do," she finished, a brief, grim smile pulling at her lips. A smile that was quickly replaced by a grimace of pain as the orcs chose that moment to surge forward in a crushing grip that had her pressed against hard, smelly bodies that were covered in a slick grime that wreaked of blood and filth. Teeth gnashed by her ears as cruel fingers dug into the soft flesh of her skin, batting her sword away as fists pounded upon her, beating her to the ground.

Stifling her cries of pain, Buffy struggled up, knowing that once she was down, she wouldn't be rising again. Surprisingly, she found that the orcs allowed her this small movement as large hands grappled and shoved her sideways until she slammed, face-first against a pointed shoulder. Groaning, Buffy pressed a hand to her stinging cheek as she lifted her eyes to find Legolas staring down at her, his beautiful face marred by a thin cut that trailed a line of blood from his smooth temple. His clothes were ripped and torn, and his skin glowed lightly in the darkness as the orcs began to loosen their circle until she and Legolas stood alone, surrounded by the orcs that continued to bellow gleefully in their grating language - until one alone stepped forward, his eyes hungrily playing over Legolas' proud, stiff features.

"Look, boys - a pretty elf-toy to play with!"

Startled, Buffy instinctively found herself stepping closer to Legolas as she realized for the first time that the orcs spoke English. They spoke English, and somehow, hearing their grating voices taunt them in her own language was so much more disturbing then even their dark speech.

"And I smell Man flesh!" another added as he, too, stepped forward to slowly circle her and Legolas, his eyes greedily taking in her petite form as though she was a fine delicacy that he couldn't wait to sample.

Eyes narrowing, Buffy felt her muscles tense as she unconsciously straightened to her full height. "I can't smell anything but your-" she began, the rest of her taunt forgotten as a vicious kick from behind sent her and Legolas falling forward until her small hands were twisted in the thick leaves. Grunting, she felt a heavy weight settle upon the small of her back, effectively pinning her down as hands reached down and cruelly twisted her arms behind her before snapping a pair of heavy manacles on her thin wrists.

Wincing at the rough treatment, Buffy bit her lip as she was pulled to her feet and then pushed forward. Stumbling on weakened legs, the slayer fell against another orc who once more shoved her forward, nearly sending her to her knees once more. Cursing, Buffy struggled to maintain her footing amidst the twisted roots of the towering trees as that same hand continued to shove her forward until she found herself half running, half stumbling in a grouping of orcs and away from the bloody clearing. It took Buffy a moment more to truly find her balance, but once she did, she found herself running beside Legolas, gratefully using his natural luminescence to guide her feet in the darkness.

"Okay," she stated as she struggled to keep up with the hard, driving pace of the orcs, "on the rare occasion the bad guys _do_ manage to kick my ass, there's usually a celebratory dance before my immanent death. What am I missing here?" she asked as they were both driven, bound as they were, through the dark forest.

Legolas took a moment to search for the stars high above, catching brief glimpses of their comforting light through the twisted branches. Southeast. They were heading southeast, which could only mean one destination: _Emyn-nu-Fuin_, the Mountains of Mirkwood. "I am afraid that such a death would be too easy for them," he finally sighed as he willed his face into the same stoic mask that was a testament to his kind. He would not allow them to see signs of his pain nor of his weariness. After all, if they truly were heading towards the Mountains, he knew that they would have plenty of opportunities to do so, as he had the feeling that the orcs would push them all night in order to reach their destination before the sun rose above the horizon.

"Too easy?" Buffy returned, daring a brief glance from the ground to look skeptically at the elf beside her.

"Aye," Legolas murmured as his eyes drifted forward. "Before the end is at hand, they will strive to make us beg for such a release," he added as an orc bellowed for silence before kicking him viciously in the back, sending him stumbling against another orc who quickly reveled in the game and sent him stumbling back with another blow. Grimacing, he moved with each hit, ignoring the pain that flared with each heavy fist and forced himself forward.

"Oh," Buffy murmured as she, too, looked towards the darkness that enveloped them like a wicked mother, holding them close against her cold bosom. "Oh."

_Dartho - Stay  
Tol, Legolas! Enni! - Come, Legolas! To me!  
U-gwannathan ir deridh! - I will not depart while you remain!  
Thoron, revio! Noro ter i yrch a drego an Rhosgobel! - Thoron, fly! Ride through the orcs and flee to Rhosgobel!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Equinoxium: Chapter 9  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Chest heaving and flank slick with sweat, the brown stallion, or Andrann, as he was called, tore through the thick undergrowth of the tangled forest, heedless of the branches that snapped at his side and tore through his chestnut mane as he bore his two passengers through the dark night. He could sense his master's unease - could feel the tension rippling through the elf's lean frame - and that tension only caused Andrann's steps to quicken as he finally broke from the wild tangles of the forest that had barred their way for so many hours, and onto a wide road, lit by the cold stars above.

"_Noro lim, mellon bain_," Thoron urged as he guided his horse down the path towards the West, whispering for Andrann to ride on. "_Noro lim a revio an Rhosgobel!_" he called, echoing his lord's command as the horse began to fly towards the settlement too many leagues distant. The pounding of the steed's hooves hammered against his senses, Mirdan clutched against him, but Thoron found his thoughts stranded in a dark clearing so far away from the Old Forest Road that would bring them to safety.

"Ai, _Elbereth_, what have I done?" he whispered, his eyes seeing naught of the dirt road that lay straight and true before him. "What have I done?" he whispered again, his words a broken cadence that thrummed with the hurting of his own heart. His king had asked for him to stay on in Middle-earth to look after his youngest son - to ensure that Prince Legolas would one day return to Thranduil and his two remaining sons. It was a request, and not an order, for both knew that the Prince was obstinate in his desire to remain in Middle-earth until all that held him to this world was dead and gone. He would not abandon his friends, and in turn, Thoron had vowed to never abandon the young Prince that had overcome a tragedy that should have delivered him into the arms of Mandos centuries before.

Yet abandon him he had.

He had left his young prince to the mercy of orcs - an oxymoron, for all knew that orcs did not understand the concept of mercy. He had abandoned his lord and his prince to a fate of pain, torture, and death, with no one to watch his back nor to stand by his side. True, the young human woman was in the clearing as well, yet he could hardly find any reassurance in that. His prince might as well have been alone in that clearing as the dark, twisted creatures rushed him with their ratcheted swords and drawn bows. He had failed. He had-

Groaning softly, Mirdan's body stiffened as the younger elf twisted against Thoron, as though trying to escape whatever dark dreams held him captive.

Frowning, Thoron brushed long fingers against the elf's pained features, noting the unnatural heat that radiated from his flushed cheeks. The poison was working through the younger elf's system far quicker than he would have liked, and Thoron realized that he was losing both of his companions - and there was naught he could do to help either.

"Stay with me, my friend, _dartho ah nin_," he repeated automatically as he tightened his hold on the unconscious elf. "And may _Elbereth_ watch over you both," he whispered, his words a fervent prayer as his head tilted towards the bright star that twinkled so far above.

* * *

Breath hissing between bloodied lips, Buffy forced one foot in front of the other as she staggered over the hazardous, wooded terrain, the heavy manacles pulling at her aching wrists. Not that she really noticed that small pain - not any more. Why bother focusing on one when there were so many others that vied for her attention? She and her elven companion had been forced to run non-stop for hours as the darkness deepened into the blackest part of night and then began to lift upon the graying of the coming morning. They had been given no chance for a break, no respite, and certainly no food or water as they were jostled amongst the orcs that held them captive - and Buffy was really beginning to tire of the routine.

Growling as another orc purposely ran its pointed elbow into the tender area above her already-bruised kidney, Buffy moved with the sharp blow, ignoring the pain as she bumped into the tall elf that continued to run almost effortlessly beside her. Yet as she lifted her eyes to his, she saw the weariness hidden beneath his blue-eyed gaze - a gaze that continued to become more grim with each twisted tree that they passed. Frowning, Buffy watched as Legolas turned from her piercing gaze, his eyes sweeping over the waning trees and to the craggy peaks that now loomed over their heads, bathed in the pre-dawn light of the coming day.

_"Before the end is at hand, they will strive to make us beg for such a release."_

Buffy tiredly followed the orc that ran in front of her, her thoughts whirling madly. It didn't take a Giles or a Willow to tell her that they were in trouble - she knew that as surely as she knew that orcs stunk beyond believing. It also didn't take a watcher or a witch to point out that they needed to find some way to escape this madness. Yet she had been pondering that same fact for the last however many hours, and so far the slayer was coming up short. There were orcs all around them, and with their hands bound behind their backs and the press of the foul beasts so tight around them, she was decidedly lacking in the plan department. Where were her Scoobies when she really needed them? Only two days without her friends and she had already landed herself as a prisoner of some of the nastiest smelling creatures she had ever encountered. Then again, while she knew that she was in trouble, her problems didn't seem nearly as dire as Legolas'.

While the orcs obviously got a sick pleasure from watching her struggle to find her footing in the darkness, they absolutely delighted in making the elf's life as miserable as possible. She had lost count after the first fifty times that one of the orcs had purposely tried to trip the graceful archer, only to have the elf falter only slightly before regaining his usual easy stride. Yet as the night waned, Legolas' steps seemed less easy and Buffy knew that sooner or later, her companion wasn't going to be able to stop himself from hitting the ground - and when that happened, she wasn't entirely sure that he would be allowed to regain his footing before all hell broke loose.

Staggering slightly as the terrain once more changed beneath her questing feet, Buffy quickly lifted her eyes as the twisted trees of Mirkwood broke for the first time to reveal an insurmountable wall of dark rock that jutted against the base of the tree line. Startled, the slayer forgot about her captors and her crippling weariness as her head tilted back to take in the craggy mountain of rock - her first real look at the Mountains of Mirkwood, the _Emyn-nu-Fuin_ - and felt herself backpedaling as her slayer sense, already muddled from being forced to run amidst so much evil for so long, began to hum as the orc stench encircled her. Recoiling, she instinctively tried to turn away, only to run into the hard armor of the orc behind her as its rough, heavy hand wrapped around the back of her neck and forced her forward.

"Slayer strength my-," Buffy began as she struggled tiredly against the orc's pincer-like grip, a pained groan escaping her lips and interrupting her tirade as the creature shoved her already battered body against the jagged rock face.

"Slayer-" Legolas began, his eyes betraying a curiosity that was quickly stamped out as his captors slammed him beside her, the evil creatures grinding him against the jagged stone. Schooling his features into an indifferent mask, Legolas bore the abuse against his hurting body as his anger burned bright within him. If Gimli ever learned of this, he would never live it down. Captured by orcs and prodded towards their stronghold - it was an injustice against his Elvish dignity and the prince found his anger tempered only by his growing anxiety - an anxiety that began to thrum throughout his body as he was roughly forced to follow Buffy along the rock face and towards a cave entrance that greedily opened as though a hungry mouth, just waiting to devour him whole. The darkness would be nothing like that which was found in the deep places of Moria, but he felt as though he were being forced into those same unfathomable depths.

Biting her lip as she was ruthlessly shoved to the ground, Buffy rolled with the impact as her bound arms took the brunt of the hurt. Grimacing, she struggled to rise again, only to have a heavy foot crash against her upper back, easily pinning her to the uneven floor of the darkened cavern. Wincing as a pointed heel spur dug into the soft flesh at the base of her neck, the slayer felt the skin break and warm blood soak into her clothing before trailing a wet path down her neck. Tired features creasing, Buffy struggled weakly against the orc's heavy foot - and then forgot all about her own struggles as she heard Legolas' unmistakable voice lift in a panicked rush that she couldn't understand. Turning her head to the side, she watched as a large group of orcs ruthlessly forced the elf inside the cave, the blond archer fighting as though possessed.

"Legolas!" she called, her eyes growing wide as whatever hostility the foul beasts had been hinting at during their long run, finally broke loose as though a dam had been shattered. It seemed as though every orc that they had faced in their clearing, as well as several others that poured from the dark recesses of the cave, all converged upon the downed elf as they beat him without mercy, their fell voices raised with an excited blood lust that caused Buffy's heart to hammer in her chest.

"Legolas!" she called again, her voice tinged with panic as the slayer renewed her struggles against her lone captor, bucking wildly beneath his heavy, booted hold. Lying on her stomach as she was, with nothing but her feet free, there was very little that she could do against the heavy weight that pressed against her.

Very little, but never nothing.

Lips thinning in a pained grimace, Buffy did the only thing that was open to her as, ignoring the pain in her raw, bruised wrists and the rocks that sliced along her exposed skin, she arched her back and then lifted her legs up and towards her head in an acrobatic feat that would have been impossible before she had been Called. Grunting, she hooked her feet around the orc's ankles and pulled him off-balance, yelping as the orc's heel slipped towards her head, slicing a long, meaty groove along the back of her neck with his pointed spur. Tears stinging her eyes, Buffy didn't wait for the orc to land as she quickly rolled to the side and staggered to her feet - only to have the sparse light in the cavern flicker before her eyes as a fist rocked against her chin and sent her flying back to the floor.

Crying out as her arms twisted beneath her, Buffy attempted to roll to her feet once more only to have another fist beat her down. Within moments it felt as though she had gained her own circle of tormenters as heavy fists rained blows down upon her already battered body, sharp, pointed toes digging past her feeble attempts at curling away from the hurt and finding new places to tear into soft flesh. It felt as though someone had unleashed a Turok-Han upon her as darkness began to steal at her dimming vision - a darkness that she struggled against with the last of her waning strength, fearing that to succumb would mean to never again awaken to see the coming day. She may have had everything that she loved stricken from her life, but that didn't mean that she welcomed death's siren call.

Not yet, at least.

Breath hissing between bloodied lips, waving on the brink between pain and the beckoning release of unconsciousness, Buffy felt the heavy blows slowly taper away as the press of bodies released her aching body to the cold floor. Limbs shaking with tremors that were beyond her control, Buffy hovered on the precarious brink as a wave of hot, putrid breath washed over her face. Grimacing, she tried to draw further away as hands once more reached for her body, forcing her to uncurl as ragged metal, as painfully cold as ice on a winter morning, wrapped around her neck and locked with a resounding clank that sealed her fate as surely as any judge from his high bench.

Eyes snapping open, the small slayer glared into the dark eyes of the orc that finished securing the manacle around her throat, her gaze forming all of the curses which her bloodied lips were unable to utter. Unmoved, the twisted creature merely smiled in return, its putrid breath once more washing over her bloodied face as he stepped back, the clinking of a heavy chain rattling in his hands.

"Smile pretty," he hissed before jerking the length of chain in its hands, its lips twisted into a cruel smile as the short length pulled at the collar that was locked so tightly around her neck, effectively cutting off her breath as he turned and dragged her battered body down the length of the cavern and into the darkness.

Gasping, body slick with sweat and blood, Buffy felt the darkness reach out to claim her as stars began to explode before her eyes, her chest struggling to draw breath into aching lungs. Everything disappeared behind the wall of pain as her thoughts began to drift away. The air that she gasped couldn't make it past her restricted throat, and the darkness here was absolute. Only when the orc's end of the short chain was secured to a spike that was driven into the stone floor did her breathing finally ease. Gasping, Buffy felt as though each limb weighed more than even she could lift or carry as she blearily opened her heavy green eyes, the light of the lifting morning seeming as though a small dot in an ocean of darkness. Yet the light of the coming morning was the perfect background for the cluster of orcs that remained circled around Legolas' unmoving form, their fists continuously falling upon him.

"Nya-" she began, unsure exactly what she was trying to convey as she struggled to move towards the fallen elf - only to have the darkness become absolute as a booted foot connected solidly with her hurting head, finally sending her over the brink and into the unending silence.

* * *

The sun had risen hours ago, and yet the horse never faltered in its mad clip down the wide, dusty road, trees ever thick beside it. The hours passed without notice, the sun lifting in the sky and gracing the two elves with her light as she reached towards her pinnacle, bathing them with warmth and pushing them ever forward - a beacon to light their path and lead them straight and true. Slowly, the thick, twisted trees of Mirkwood began to thin as Thoron's sharp hearing detected a quiet hum that existed outside the heavy pounding of his steed's graceful step. Instinctively pulling Mirdan's unresponsive form tighter against his chest, Thoron looked towards the village that banked against the edge of the dark forest.

Rhosgobel.

A settlement of Men.

Mirdan's only hope, and Thoron's only chance to find aid for his prince.

If he hadn't been so desperate, Thoron would have laughed at the thought. Yet the fact remained that he _was_ desperate. He had left Legolas to the hands of the orcs only hours after the sun had set the night before. It was now coming upon the high arc of the sun and this settlement of Men was his only hope. The idea was laughable - ludicrous - and yet Thoron guided his large stallion through the trees and into the small village, his head held high as he pulled the unconscious elf against him.

Instantly he felt the eyes of the scattered _Edain_ fall upon him - men and women, dirty and bent over tubs of water, pelts of skin, and hot metals as their young ones ran screaming around the small, square buildings. It was a settlement of Men in the truest sense, from the rank smell of too many _Edain_ living too close together, to their harsh buildings that sprang from the ground and stood as a stark eyesore against Arda's natural beauty. And yet these were the people to which he was forced to turn for help.

Swallowing his pride, Thoron stiffly allowed his gaze to sweep over the startled townspeople, his face a stoic mask that hid his inner turmoil. "I need assistance," he stated, his voice low and clear as he waited for the Men to step forward. Yet if anything, the grouping of people stepped back as they recoiled beneath the full weight of an Elven stare - one not accustomed to dealing with the mortal world. Frowning, Thoron allowed his gaze to show his displeasure as he shifted Mirdan's dead weight against him, Andrann echoing his sentiments as he stomped one heavy foot upon the dirt road. "My companion is injured," Thoron continued, wondering if the entire population were truly as daft as they appeared. Couldn't they see that Mirdan was injured? Couldn't they stop gawking long enough to come to their aid? "I need-"

"Kiric," one of the _Edain_ broke in, his rough voice easily carrying over Thoron's lighter tones as the man nodded towards a small boy that stood uncertainly against the building behind him. "Kiric, go and fetch the Rangers and their friends. Quickly now!" he added as his dark gaze swept over the pale elf that trembled in Thoron's grip.

Startled, the older elf clutched Mirdan against him as the small boy turned away and hurried down the street before disappearing into a long, low building down the way. For a moment, the dark-haired elf couldn't believe his luck as the first inklings of hope began to lift his _fa_. While the Rangers of the North were still Men, they were of the Dnedain - the kin of King Elessar - and were led by Halbarad, a Man that was said to have ridden the Paths of the Dead with his Prince. They were long-descended from the blood of the Firstborn, and more importantly, it was said that they traveled with-

"Lords Elladan, Elrohir!" Thoron called out as the twin sons of Lord Elrond filed out of the far building amidst a large grouping of Men that were dressed in the habit of the Rangers of the North. Urging Andrann forward, he met the startled twins near the open doorway as the half-elven lords stood for a moment to gape at him and Mirdan, their long brown hair pushed behind identical, delicately-tapered ears, gray cloaks draped over their shoulders - their broadness a testament to their mixed heritage.

"Master Thoron, what are you- what happened?" one of the twins asked as he helped to ease Mirdan down from the high steed - which twin, Thoron couldn't be sure. They both looked the same, even to his trained eye, and he and his king had often silently debated which was which over the many thousands of years since their birth.

"Who is this?" the other asked as he helped his brother to carry the unconscious elf towards the low building, the _Edain_ parting before the brothers as they swept into the darkened interior.

"This is Mirdan, son of Derinias, formerly of the woodland realm," Thoron stated as his eyes swept over the large room, obviously one of the taverns that the _Edain_ were known to frequent. "We were attacked by orcs and he took hurt to his shoulder. The arrow was poisoned," he explained, his voice curt as the twins lowered the unconscious elf to one of the hard tables.

"How long ago?" one asked, Elladan, he believed, as his hands - the trained hands of a healer - began to uncover the wound for inspection.

"Last night, and the Prince-"

"Legolas?" the other interrupted, his fair face pinched as he quickly looked towards the door, as though expecting his friend to step into the room at any moment. "Where is he?"

"I know not," Thoron returned, his voice grim as Elladan - he was almost positive it was Elladan - turned from Mirdan's bloody wound to begin digging through a small pack that one of the Rangers had carried to the elf's side. "Mirdan was injured and my Lord bid me to leave."

Startled, Elladan paused in his search and turned wide eyes to his brother. Silently he conveyed his worry to his twin as he struggled against the memory of an orc's cruelty. While he had never before known the displeasure of an orc's company, his mother had been forced to experience it firsthand when she was taken from them over five hundred years ago. Five hundred years, and yet the memory was as sharp as if it had been yesterday. It had been he and Elrohir who had finally found her, bound and broken upon the floor of a cave in the Misty Mountains. Time had healed her injuries, but it could not heal the damage that had been done to her spirit, and shortly thereafter she had left her family to travel to the Undying Lands in hopes of finally finding the peace and healing that she deserved. Since then, he and his brother had hunted the twisted creatures with a dark passion, somehow easing their own hurt with each and every fell creature that they destroyed. Orc captivity was a fate that they would wish upon no one - especially not the young elf that they had known since his birth - the same young elf that had stood by their foster-brother's side throughout the entire War of the Rings.

"It must be the group that we were hunting."

Nodding slightly, decision made, Elladan turned from his brother and nodded towards the Man that had spoken. "I fear that it is," he agreed, his dark eyes sweeping over Halbarad's heavy frame. "Legolas-"

"I remember the lad," the ranger broke in, his lined face twisted with worry. "And Aragorn would have my hide if I let anything happen to him," he added as he beckoned for an older, scarred man to come forth from the large grouping of Rangers. "See to the elf's wounds," he ordered before turning to a tall lad, one of their youngest. "Gather the others," he ordered as he nodded towards the stairs to the rooms above. "We ride out in a few minutes."

With narrowed eyes, Thoron watched for a moment as the older man began to gently cleanse Mirdan's wound, before finally admitting that the _Edain_ seemed to have some skill in Healing - most likely learned from Lord Elrond's sons, or Lord Elrond himself. Sighing softly, the stoic elf allowed that small part of his mind to relax with the knowledge that he would be leaving his companion in good hands as he turned expectantly towards the twins - and then frowned as Elladan... or was it Elrohir?... narrowed his eyes upon him. "I am going with you," Thoron stated before either twin had a chance to say otherwise. "My King bade me to watch over his son and I will not fail my lord in this task."

A smile pulling at his lips, Elrohir glanced to his brother before lightly shrugging his shoulders. "Fair enough," he stated as he started towards the door. "I was just going to ask if you could lead the way."

"It would go much faster if you can bring us to where you last saw Legolas," Elladan added, sharing an amused look with his brother before stepping out into the bright afternoon light - a light that seemed marred by the thought of Legolas in the cruel hands of orcs. "And right now, time is our biggest enemy."

* * *

Groaning softly, Buffy slowly felt her way back to the world. Unlike waking from sleep, returning from unconsciousness always had a particular flavor that allowed no room for the soothing grip of dream fantasies. Instead, the cruel, hard world always seized you in its pincer-grip from the moment that the pain was allowed to seep through - and this time, it felt as though she got a double shot of pain with a sprinkle of agony to the mix.

Breath catching in her throat, Buffy pinched her eyes shut as she instinctively curled in upon herself as she tried to get her bearings. The last that she remembered was the foot that had collided with her head, and judging from the pounding misery that radiated through her skull, she imagined that it had been a pretty good kick. Grimacing, Buffy tasted the sour, copper flavor of blood in her mouth as the uneven stone floor pressed cold and gritty beneath her cheek. Ruthlessly refusing to gag on the foul taste, she slowly began to turn, ignoring her body's rather loud and fervent protests against the idea as her chains rattled loudly at her movements.

"_Hodo_ - lie still."

Freezing, Buffy felt her heart hammer against her bruised ribs as she slowly turned her head to the side, the gloom somewhat lessened by the faintly glowing elf beside her. Eyes growing wide, the slayer's gaze fell over his tunic, ripped and stained with blood as Legolas wearily perched on his knees, leaning heavily against the stone wall behind him. His bruised wrists were encased within two heavy manacles that were secured to the wall above him, just high enough to ensure that he couldn't move from his kneeling position - and yet his eyes were wide and clear as they looked at her with worry and compassion. Idly, she realized that she probably didn't look any better as her eyes softened upon the dark bruises that marred his pale cheeks.

Sighing, Buffy's eyes slid shut as she once more tried to move, slowly this time - and then fell still as her body vehemently protested her efforts. She knew that she was healing - her slayer legacy helping in that matter - but it didn't really ease the agony that encased her every thought. "Ow," she whispered, understanding that the simple word was a huge understatement to the pain that was radiating from her battered body, but unable to find the energy to care.

"Indeed," Legolas sighed softly beside her, his sole admission to the pain that caused his aching body to quiver at the remembered touch of the orcs that had so lovingly painted his body in a multitude of new colors.

Eyes slipping open, Buffy looked again at the elf that was bound beside her. "Where are they?" she murmured.

"Scattered all around," Legolas returned, his voice dropping to match her quiet tone. "Sleeping, for the most part."

Grimacing, Buffy shifted again as she tried to find a position on the cold rocks that wouldn't either pull at the chain that was closed around her neck, or at the chains that bound her wrists behind her. In seconds, she realized that all that her movements gained her were the reminders of what else was injured, tied in with the unnaturally loud sound of her chains as they rattled against one another. Sighing, she fell still as her weariness multiplied with this realization. Yet with the beckoning call of oblivion came the by now familiar and unspoken fear that this time, she would never awaken.

"How long have I been out?" Buffy whispered, anxious to keep the quiet at bay.

"Most of the day," Legolas returned, his voice conveying his worry as his gaze trailed over the bruised and torn skin that was exposed to the dank, cavern air. Not that it did any good to worry about her injuries. He couldn't even help himself, let alone anyone else. "Night is coming now," he added, his frown deepening as he turned his eyes towards the light that seemed so very far away, his attention focused towards Iluvatar's song that seemed just beyond his reach.

"Which I'm guessing isn't a good thing," Buffy returned, her eyes narrowing upon his tired features.

"No, it is not," Legolas agreed, his words simple as he thought sadly to the many friends that he would be leaving behind if the orcs had their way. It seemed so senseless to have survived the balrog in Moria, the Uruk-Hai that took Boromir, the great battle at Helm's Deep, the Paths of the Dead, and the later battles on the Pelennor Fields and before the Black Gate itself... only to be killed during a time of peace in the forests of his birth.

As though reading his mind, Buffy sighed softly as she once more shifted. "You'd think that dying in my sleep at the ripe age of ninety-five wasn't asking for too much this time around," she whispered as she finally allowed her head to rest against the gritty rock floor.

"You speak as though you have died before," Legolas returned, somehow summoning his waning curiosity.

"I have. Twice."

Startled, Legolas drew back as much as possible in his restraints, his sharp gaze narrowing upon the bruised face of the girl that lay in a ragged heap before him. "How can that be?" he asked, his head tilting quizzically to the side, his blood-matted hair falling around his narrow shoulders.

Sighing, Buffy's gaze came to rest upon the dark rocks just to the left of Legolas' softly glowing form. It was such a simple question, really, yet the answer was so very complex and spoke of the hurts that she had always held so close to her heart. Instinct bade her to ignore his question and allow the darkness to take her - anything better than reliving the events that had so marked her. Then again, what did she have to lose?

"The first time, a Master Vampire took a bite out of me and then left me to drown in a pool of water," Buffy stated, her words sounding hollow to her ears, as though she was speaking of someone else - someone not related to the young woman that lay bloody and beaten upon a cold cavern floor. "Xander was able to use CPR to bring me back," she added, a small smile lifting her cracked, bloody lips as she thought of the dear friend that had stood beside her for so many years.

"Was he a wizard? Did he use some kind of magic?" Legolas returned, the conversation helping to distract him from his many hurts.

"Not exactly," Buffy returned with a wry smile. "Xander's a carpenter, a guy who builds houses and boards up broken windows, and CPR... well, I like to think of it as the gift that keeps on giving," she continued with a small snort that quickly transformed into a pained, wracking cough that pushed at her bruised ribs and caused her chest to ache. Grimacing, Buffy waited a moment or two before slowly turning back to the battered elf beside her. "I was only dead for a few minutes that time, but the last time, two years ago, was a bit longer - as in five months longer."

"What happened?"

"Oh, you know," Buffy stated airily as she turned her head to the side. "Just your basic jump into a dimensional portal that was opened by a hell god to save your little sister who isn't really your sister, get fried and put in the ground for your eternal rest that isn't so eternal, only to be brought back by your best friend five months later when she starts playing with dark magicks that she never should have touched." Turning her head a little bit, Buffy caught Legolas' wide eyes and smiled softly as he opened and closed his mouth for several moments, obviously at a loss as to what to say.

"Your friend.. she brought you-"

"In Willow's defense, she thought I was trapped in a Hell dimension," Buffy continued, her smile turning wistful as she once more turned her head to the side so that Legolas' glow softly illuminated the dark walls beside him. "But personally? I think I was in Heaven."

"Heaven?" Legolas queried, his voice growing soft as the darkness and age behind Buffy's gaze were finally explained - at least in part.

"I suppose that it's the human version of your Valinor," the slayer returned, her smile tinged with a sadness that Legolas could relate to as she referred to the Undying Lands that Mirdan had haltingly described to her - a place that he had only visited in his Elvish dreams. "Some people believe that it's where we go when we die. Although all I really remember is how warm I was... so at peace and so... loved," Buffy murmured, her smile growing soft. "There was no one to fight. No one to protect. No one to save. I just _was_."

For a moment, the silence stretched between them as Legolas closed his eyes against the open, unguarded yearning that was hidden just beyond her green-eyed gaze. In the furthest corners of his mind, he heard the piercing cry of the sea gulls as the waves pounded against the sandy shore, and in that moment, he felt the connection between he and the small woman strengthen. He knew first-hand of the torment that she would live with until her dying day as she was torn between the bliss that called to her soul and the ties that continued to bind her to this world. It was a tug of war that he struggled with each day that he remained in Middle-earth, ignoring the sea-longing that ripped at his heart and begged him to forsake his friends to make his final journey to the Undying Lands. It was a call that he refused to answer until the last of his friends had forsaken this life, and those ties were as strong as the chains that bound him to the cavern wall. He couldn't help but wonder what ties still bound the woman that lay before him, so battered in body, yet strong in spirit as she seemed to shake away her melancholy to grimace at the chains that bound her.

"Unfortunately," Buffy continued, her lips turning down in a small frown, "Willow wasn't supposed to bring me back - or according to some, I guess that I wasn't supposed to die for my sister. Whatever the case, it offset the balance on my world and allowed Evil to take a foothold that caused the deaths of a lot of innocent girls. So, we had to set it right."

"Which is why you are here now," Legolas supplied, his forehead creased as he thought back to the dream which had led him to this point in time.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, her frown deepening. "Apparently your world is out of balance and I've been sent here to set it right. Although right now," she added as she pointedly looked from where her chain connected her to the cavern floor, "can't really say that the Powers are getting their money's worth."

_Noro lim, mellon bain:_ Ride on, fair friend  
_Noro lim a revio an Rhosgobel!_ Ride on and fly to Rhosgobel!  
_Dartho ah nin:_ Stay with me


	10. Chapter 10

**Equinoxium: Chapter 10  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the LoTR canon glitch in the last chapter. Apparently Tolkien listed Halbarad as one of those lost at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields in one sentence at the end of a chapter. My mistake. Thus, I have used my Valar and PTB-like abilities to raise Halbarad from the dead for this story. That's right folks, just call me God for I have rewritten history. Pretend that one sentence was never written in Tolkien's books as Halbarad lived to tell the tale to all of the dour Rangers back home.

* * *

As Thoron's exhausted mount made its way towards the silent clearing, the sun was yet again painting the sky with her wide palette of reds, oranges, purples and blues - all colors that were muted and hidden beneath the towering arms of the trees that coveted the large party beneath her twisted eaves. A full day had come and gone since he had last seen his Prince, surrounded by orcs and bidding him forth. Help had arrived, and yet Thoron knew without saying that the help had arrived a full day too late. With so much time having come and gone, they would find one of two things: Legolas' body cast amongst the ruin or nothing at all. He didn't know which outcome he feared worse.

He had run Andrann hard throughout the day as he retraced his path along the Old Forest Road, and then through the trees as he raced to return to his lord, the Rangers and the twin sons of Elrond ever close on Andrann's heels. Now, with the clearing in sight, Andrann shuddered beneath him, close to collapsing from exhaustion. But they wouldn't stop... couldn't stop. While it was likely that his lord had been killed within minutes of his departure the night before, that he was too late from the moment he abandoned his liege, there was an even greater chance that he had been taken alive - a fate that could be worse than death.

The twins' mother was example enough of the twisted pleasure that the foul creatures took in debasing that which is so pure. Orcs delighted in torment and cruel tortures, and if the opportunity arose, an orc was just as likely to take an elf captive for their enjoyments than to kill him outright. In such cases, death was preferable to the torment of captivity for such was a fate that no elf wished upon another being, be it elf, man or even dwarf. An elf in particular was not made to be the prisoner of orcs, and if that had happened to the youngest son of Thranduil, his lord had been in the cruel hands of his tormentors for a full day... a day in which so much evil could have befallen his young lord. Thus, while there was still hope, it was a precarious hope that wavered amongst so many treacherous possibilities, and with thousands of years and many ages of experience to harden a heart so torn, Thoron dared not trust to hope at all.

Narrowed eyes set in an impassive face, Thoron allowed Andrann to carry him the final few feet past the twisted trees and into the clearing itself. Immediately the elf cast his gaze over the many bodies that littered the blood-stained ground, searching quickly for his prince amongst the black and mutilated bodies. _Ai Elbereth - please let him not be amongst this ruin._ Surprising himself with his fervent prayer, stern features slipping ever so slightly, Thoron quickly slid from his trembling mount's tall back as the horses of the Rangers and the Twins eased beside his own, their faces grim as their trained eyes took in the slaughtered creatures.

"This is where we were attacked," Thoron stated, more to break the solemn silence than to point out that which was obvious to every man and elf who looked upon the vile desecration of a wood that, many centuries ago, was once filled with life.

"So we see," Elladan remarked dryly as he slowly dismounted and then began to step amongst the ruined bodies, careful to avoid disturbing the tracks that began to tell him what had happened as clearly as any scroll from his father's library.

"Only Legolas or Estel could cause such ruin," Elrohir added with a small grimace as he joined his twin amongst the carnage, his long legs bending so he could touch the blackened, dried blood that painted the forest floor. "Though many of these wounds do not seem typical of our young friend," he added, a small frown pulling at his lips as Halbarad used the toe of one worn boot to turn over an orc that had been laid bare from sternum to base, his entrails pooled around his still form.

"This wound is deep, and much strength went into the blow - yet it lacks the clean lines of the weapons of the Firstborn," the ranger agreed, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully upon the dead orc. "If I were to wager a guess, I would say that one of the Rohirrim had been fighting alongside the lad. A _very_ strong Rohirrim."

"And yet this does nothing to tell me what has become of my Prince," Thoron interrupted as he watched the Men move through the clearing with such care. "We need to-"

"Halbarad! Over here!"

Heart hammering in his chest, Thoron moved without thought as he followed the dour-looking man across the small clearing and a short distance into the dark trees. The carnage was lessened here, and the woods showed little of the destruction that marred her grounds just a little ways beyond. Yet the dark-haired elf saw little of this as his eyes instinctively swept the churned ground for the body that he expected to find crumpled amongst the trees, fair golden-hair painted red with precious immortal blood.

"What have you-" Halbarad began, his words cut short by a loud, angry snort and a muffled curse as one of his men stumbled back from the shadows to land painfully at his feet.

"Rodwen!" Thoron called out, his voice stern as he instantly recognized the plaintive voice of Mirdan's brown mount. Pushing past the winded _Edain_, the tall elf moved fearlessly into the dark trees, his eyes piercing the shadows to reveal the familiar horse. "Easy, my friend," he whispered in his own language as he gently reached a hand to the velvet nose that butted against his warm fingers. "It gladdens my heart to see that you-" he began, his soft words of comfort quickly forgotten as the large beast shifted its bulk to reveal that which he had guarded so closely during the long night. "Sador," Thoron whispered, his words torn from his throat as he quickly hurried to the white mare that was lying on the ground, a long black arrow protruding from a bloody wound in her flank. He had remembered her throwing the human girl and then fleeing into the night... and yet at some point, the horse had returned to the battle - had returned to find her Master.

"Ai, you loyal beast," he murmured as he bent to rub his long hand across the unmoving horse's blood-stained coat, her eyes now forever closed in the timeless sleep that was meant to come to all mortal beings. Closing his own saddened eyes, he murmured an Elvish prayer for the proud steed, feeling his heart wrench with the sorrow that her passing would bring to his prince.

If his prince yet lived to hear the news.

"Thoron, Elladan asks for you."

Sighing softly, Thoron looked once more upon the beautiful horse before finally turning away. "Come my friend," he whispered as he gently took Rodwen's face in his hands, the stallion's large eyes mirroring the sorrow that beat in his own heart. "There is no more for you to do here. We must now leave her to the woods and her sleep," he stated as he gently led the horse away from the shadows and back to the clearing that had seen so much death and destruction.

Turning from his brother and the rangers that gathered around them, the eldest son of Elrond watched the other elf's slow approach, his face impassive as he waited for the stoic elf to come before him. "I see that you have found a friend," he commented, his eyes narrowed upon the tall mount that moved from Thoron's side to greet Andrann, their quiet, sorrowed nickers echoing quietly in the small clearing.

"He was guarding Legolas' horse," Thoron returned, his words clipped as his eyes rested upon the two steeds. "I am not sure if he even realized that she had passed on some time during the night," he added, his words becoming soft, and almost gentle before he shook off his sorrow, his eyes hard and narrowed upon the younger elf that stood before him. "What have you found?"

Frowning softly, Elladan allowed the matter to drop as he turned to his brother and the rangers that stood attentively around them. "The tracks indicate that Legolas was not killed, but taken by the orcs in the direction of _Emyn-nu-Fuin_... yet it seems that he was not the only one taken captive."

"Much blood was spilled in this clearing," Elrohir added, taking over for his brother as he knelt beside a leaf that was stained with a mixture of both black and dried crimson blood. "Yet not all of it was Orcish or Elven blood. This," he added as he licked his finger and then pressed it against the cracked crimson stain, waiting for the fluid to regain its moisture before touching his tongue against the stained finger pad, "is the blood of a Man."

Sighing, Thoron waved his hand dismissively as he turned and moved towards the elven horses, having heard all that he needed to know. "We were traveling with one of the _Edain_ - a girl," he admitted as he slid onto Rodwen's tall back, thereby giving Andrann a chance to move without his weight to hamper him. His horse had been clipped by an arrow during their escape and he knew that the wound would need to be tended before much more time had passed - but for now, this was the only respite that he was able to offer his devoted horse. Time was slipping through their fingers faster than Thoron could account for, so much so that he was beginning to become aware of each passing hour, minute, and even second that separated him from his prince. It was a predicament that was wholly mortal and something that he was unaccustomed to. After all, he was one of the Firstborn, immortal, and time had never before carried such significance with its passing. Elves marked the passage of time with the passing of the seasons... not the passage of the sun and the moon in the skies above.

"Wait," Halbarad ordered as he quickly moved forward and caught the hem of Thoron's green tunic, ignoring the elf's annoyed glance. "You were traveling with a child?" he demanded, his features creasing as his heart audibly began to hammer in his chest.

"No, older than a child," Thoron sighed as he frowned at the man, forcing himself to remain civil as he bit back the retort that to him, they were _all_ children. After all, _Edain_ or not, this Man was going to help him find his Prince. "Around his age," he added as he nodded towards the young ranger that had been sent to fetch the others back at the inn.

Eyes growing wide, Halbarad looked to the lad, a man of no more than 18 summers, and felt his face grow pale. "You were traveling with a lady?" he demanded as he quickly looked from the indifferent elf to the twin sons of Elrond, his exasperation clearly showing in his narrowed eyes. The fact that the arrogant elf was only mentioning this fact at this hour, and obviously at no great concern for the lady's well-being, spoke much of the elf's opinion of mortals, and Men in particular.

"Yes," Thoron returned, his exasperation growing as he pointedly turned his horse towards the mountains that he knew loomed beyond the veil of the towering trees. "Yet what concerns me is that my prince has been in the hands of these orcs for a full day. We need to find him."

"And her," Halbarad added, his voice grim as he hurried to his waiting horse, "before it is too late for them both."

* * *

"Nothing good ever comes of caves."

Smiling wryly at Buffy's soft words, Legolas shifted in his uncomfortable position against the craggy stone. "I have told my friend, Gimli, the same for the past nine years and he has yet to be convinced by my logic," he returned as he cast his gaze towards the darkness that was gathering outside the cavern, reducing their small source of light until it was naught but a memory. "Then again, Gimli is a dwarf, and dwarves think differently than elves. Where we see cold stone, they see beauty and possibility. They are the children of Aul and were created outside of Ilvatar's song, and even Ilvatar predicted the strife that would often occur between our races."

"And yet he's your friend," Buffy countered, trying to ignore the shivers that wracked her small frame as the deep, bone-chilling cold of the stone continued to leech the warmth from her healing limbs.

"Aye, that he is," Legolas agreed, a smile pulling at his lips as he thought of the short creature that contained such passion and boldness. "And rarely have I known a truer friend and companion," he murmured as he forced his eyes from the waning light and instead looked upon the small girl that lay before him, her green eyes betraying her weariness. "I have been told that I see things in those that others do not," he continued as he tried to compare the strong, brave young woman that lay before him with her counterpart from his dream - the woman that his friends had urged him to destroy in order to save everything that he held dear.

Snorting softly, Buffy rolled her eyes away from the dimly glowing elf. "Apparently that's something that we both have in common," she stated softly. "I'm supposed to kill all of the nasties that go bump in the night, but some of my strongest allies and friends have been witches, vampires, werewolves, and demons."

"You've aligned yourself with Darkness," Legolas murmured, valiantly fighting to quell the dismay that spiked through his heart.

"Wouldn't you if that's what it took to save the Light?" Buffy returned, reading some of the reservations that divided the immortal being beside her - easily seeing the judgments that clouded his blue eyes. "Some people choose to see the world in black and white. I can't afford to," she murmured as she turned her eyes away from his. Sometimes it was as though he was able to look past the walls that she had erected around her heart, so battered from so many years of fighting the darkness... so battered from all of the losses that she had accumulated throughout the years. Yet if she was honest, she didn't hide from what he might be able to see within herself, but rather what _she_ would be forced to see in those dark places that were better left forgotten. "Sometimes I think that life is all about messing up, often in the worst of ways, and then trying to find a way back from the dark places that you've traveled."

"And have you ever had to find your way to redemption?" Legolas returned, his voice compelling as Buffy lifted her eyes to his.

"Everyone has at some point or another," Buffy returned, her words solemn. "My best friend, Willow, was a powerful witch who tried to end the world last year. My watcher, Giles, was a man who messed with dark magics that resulted in the death of a friend. Another friend, Anya, was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years. Spike was a vampire who was known as William the Bloody, responsible for so much death and bloodshed. Faith was a slayer who went bad and killed a lot of people. And Angel... Angel was a vampire with a soul whose demon was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people... and I set his demon free. Yet each and every one of them have saved me more times than I can count. And I... I've probably messed up more than any of them," Buffy admitted with a small sigh, her chest tightening with the memories of all that she had done wrong over the years. True, she was a champion for the Light - a warrior for the people, if you will, but that didn't erase all of her mistakes.

She didn't get to Jesse in time and as a result, Willow and Xander had lost their childhood best friend to the darkness that she was responsible for keeping at bay.

She was the one who slept with Angel and caused him to lose his soul. She was the reason why Jenny Calendar and Kendra were dead.

She ignored Faith's cries for help and later sent the rogue slayer into a coma. Faith's blood would forever stain her hands.

She couldn't save her mother. She couldn't save her sister. She couldn't even save herself. The world had become too much and thus she had embraced death. She had died.

She had been so blind... so very blind. She had been so focused on her own pain that she had ignored everyone else's - was oblivious to their cries. She had almost accepted a fantasy over reality. She had almost _killed_ everyone that she loved.

Yet worst of all: she had lived, and as a result, too many innocent girls had not. She had the blood of hundreds - maybe even thousands of girls on her hands. It didn't matter if she hadn't intended for any of it to happen. It didn't matter that at first, she never even _wanted_ to be restored to the life that she had managed to escape. All that mattered was that her life had cost too much.

"Redemption is something that some people will never stop working for," Buffy murmured, her words more of a whisper as she turned towards Legolas and allowed his sharp gaze to look past her many barriers to see the sorrow that lay hidden beneath. As the slayer looked into the elf's unblinking blue gaze, she couldn't help but wonder if this elf could even relate to the many failures that she shouldered. Could a being so seemingly perfect understand imperfection? Could such a being ever be capable of such regret? Frowning, Buffy opened her mouth to ask these same questions when a sudden commotion caused the words to clog in her throat as she tried to move, tried to struggle upright.

"No, stay still," Legolas urged as his sharp eyes looked past her form and to the orcs that were finally beginning to stir from their death-like slumber. "Stay still and do not draw attention upon yourself. If luck is with us, they will ignore you and focus on me," he stated as his lean body tensed, as though poised for flight as he leaned against the cavern wall for support to his aching limbs. He had healed much during the long day, but there had been no rest for his weary body - not in a cave, and certainly not in a cave suffused with the stench of hundreds of orcs.

"Yeah, lucky for me - not so much for you," Buffy retorted as she nonetheless heeded his words and lay still once more. "'Sides, what's their beef with you? Not that I'm complaining or anything, but I'm used to getting all of the attention, and this morning, they seemed all too willing to get me out of the way to beat the crap out of you."

Legolas cast a wary gaze at the orcs that were beginning to noisily mill about the large cavern, their twisted, hideous bodies disappearing down various tunnels while others appeared from other openings. Some carried different packages that resembled foodstuffs, and if such a thing could be said about such creatures, it appeared as though they were clumsily organizing themselves and in the beginning stages of preparing to abandon their lair.

"Legolas? What's going on?" Buffy whispered, catching the elf's attention with her plaintive question as she began to shift and perhaps roll to her other side to see what had caused the small frown to pull at his lips.

"Long ago," Legolas quickly whispered, hoping to keep her still and to prevent her from drawing unwanted attention, "it is said that the dark Lord Morgoth imprisoned a few of the Firstborn and by slow acts of torture and cruelty they were corrupted and enslaved. He twisted their bodies and souls to breed the orcs in a mockery of the elves."

"So... you guys are like distant cousins or something?" Buffy returned, her nose wrinkling as she tried and failed to find some kind of resemblance between the beautiful and ethereal creature that was chained before her to the stinky, twisted, and hideous creatures that were responsible for all of the bruises that caused her skin to look a lovely greenish-yellow color.

Ignoring her question, Legolas returned his eyes to the growing orc activity, his lips turning down in an expression of disgust as a group broke away at the orders of their leader and began ambling eagerly towards them. "They hate us because on some level, they know that we are what they once were and what they will never again be."

Frowning, Buffy attempted to untangle the elf's words until the heavy and unmistakable sound of approaching orc feet drove the statement from her mind. Body growing tense, the slayer stilled until even her breathing became a shallow release of gathered breath as she watched Legolas' face close like a mask. She felt helpless - powerless - with her back exposed to the enemy and the chains inhibiting her movements. She had healed quickly during the day and even though she felt more bruised than not, she knew that her movements could be as fluid as a ballerina's if only she had the space and the opportunity to move; if only she was given the opportunity to fight.

For one breathless moment, the world stood still as Legolas looked to her one last time. In his timeless gaze she saw so much more than the cruel certainty of what awaited them this night. She saw life and vitality, an ageless grace that was as pure as the gaze of a newborn child... yet she also saw a wisdom that surpassed reasoning.

She saw eternity.

An eternity that was going to be cut short.

Eyes growing wide, Buffy watched as four large orcs stepped around her prone form and advanced upon Legolas with loud, raucous cries that caused her blood to run cold. She didn't understand the language, yet she needn't be fluent in orc babble to hear the wicked promises of what they wanted to do to him and the pain that they wished to cause... the damage that they wanted to inflict upon the creature that was bound before them.

Blue eyes narrowed in a face that was carved from the hardest granite, Legolas met each taunt and vicious jab with silence. Even as long nails dug into soft flesh, the elf said naught as the full weight of his elven stare fell upon his tormentors. Within moments, the excited cries of the orcs were replaced by a thick silence as they shifted beneath the unblinking glare - a glare that soon had them trapped within its immortal depths.

Struggling against the heavy chains that continued to hold her to the cold cavern floor, Buffy could only watch as one of the orcs broke free of his paralysis with a vicious snarl and backhanded Legolas with such force that the elf's head rocked against the wall behind him. "Hey Ugly! Why don't you back off?" she stormed as the orcs unleashed their hatred upon Legolas' bound form, the sick sound of flesh meeting flesh painting a horrible picture of the scene that was hidden behind the orcs' turned backs. Yet it was as though she was speaking to a brick wall as her taunts went unnoticed as the gleeful grunts and high-pitched squeals of the orcs bounced off of close walls and assaulted her ears until it was a sickening cadence that was impossible to ignore.

Eyes narrowing, Buffy cursed vehemently beneath her breath as she blithely ignored Legolas' previous directions and used her bound hands to leverage her up and forward until she was crouched on her knees, her neck bent painfully forward by the short chain that held her to the stone floor. The position was awkward at best, and already she felt her bruised ribs protesting the sudden movement, but as a soft, pained groan was heard over the excited cries of the orcs, Buffy found that her pain was rapidly diminishing beneath a growing wave of concern for the blond-haired elf that had been so kind to her for the past few days.

Besides, she was the Slayer. It wasn't in her job description to sit around as a friend got the crap beat out of him.

"I said," she grunted as she rolled to the side with as much momentum as possible, her legs sweeping out in a wide arc as her full weight fell against her bound hands. "-to back off!" she finished as her legs slammed against the legs of two of Legolas' tormentors, sending them pinwheeling into their companions. Ignoring the waves of pain that shot up her battered arms, Buffy took a brief moment to meet Legolas' eyes as he slowly lifted his head, blond hair sliding past a bruised, fair face - before a kick from behind sent her rolling back until the chain at her neck snapped her head against the ground.

Groaning, Buffy felt her empty stomach protest the stars that exploded before her eyes as she felt hard hands close upon her neck, forcing her head against the cold cavern floor. Coughing, gasping for breath, she weakly tried to squirm free of the bruising grip, only to have the chain pulled taut as she once more felt herself being dragged along the ragged rock surface. Eyes snapping open, she watched as the walls and roof slid by in a confusing, disorienting mess that was confounded by the yelling voices and the sneering faces of the orcs that kicked her as she was drug past. In moments the walls of the cave were replaced by the dark night beyond where far, far above she could barely make out the glittering stars in the heavens above.

Chest burning from lack of oxygen, red tinting the edges of her waning vision, Buffy locked onto this sight as her battered body became torn, bruised, and bloody from the uneven ground as it dug against her heavy limbs.

Heavy.... that's how she felt.

So very heavy.

Everything was sparkling like muted diamonds and she felt like she was... dying.

* * *

"-not even a little scream for us?"

Groaning, Buffy felt everything shift as she struggled to orient her spinning mind. She was lying on her side, her hands, long since numb and feeling like two dead weights, were still bound behind her as her cheek was pressed against the ground... only this time her pillow was gritty and still retained some of the warmth from the previous day. This time, cool, fresh-smelling air brushed over her dirty and blood-stained features. This time, if possible, she hurt even worse than before.

"Stubborn little elf, isn't he? Not to worry, he can't stay quiet forever."

Her lungs ached and her breath wheezed through an airway that felt stiff and swollen. She wanted a throat lozenge, or even a glass of water. Actually, what she really wanted was a Willow and some of her Wiccan healing charms, or better yet, a Giles with his little box of bandages, creams and ointments.

She wanted her mom.

"Ooh - almost screamed that time, didn't you?"

Frowning, Buffy tried to even out her ragged breathing as the rest of the world slowly began to come back to her oxygen-starved brain. She felt as though someone had jammed two large balls of cotton into her ears as everything traveled through an ocean of space before it reached her addled brain. There were low grunts and excited cries, as well as the unmistakable and familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh.

She smelled blood, and this time she wasn't so sure that it was her blood that she was smelling.

Grimacing, Buffy slowly curled her fingers behind her, wincing as it felt like someone was jabbing hundreds of pins and needles into the torn flesh as she struggled against the two bags of sand that pressed against her closed eyes. There was something wrong. Something that she needed to do and if she could only remember what was going on...

"Not too deep. Don't want to bleed him out already. Fun's not done yet."

Eyes snapping open as everything came rushing back in one giant wave that left her shaking, Buffy jerked instinctively as the cotton balls dissolved upon themselves. "Legolas?" she whispered, the word torn from her bruised throat as she tried to sit, only to have her metal collar dig into her flesh and continue to hold her captive against the ground. "Legolas," she tried again, ignoring the pain that it caused as her wild eyes took in the chain that once more connected her to a stake that had been driven deep into the ground - this time in a clearing just outside of the cavern entrance, the dark woods of Mirkwood opening ominously a few feet away.

"Look boys, we got ourselves a bleeder. Look at all that pretty red blood."

Heart hammering in her chest, Buffy focused on the harsh voice that echoed above the excited grunts, the slayer rolling over her bruised arms until she was facing the writhing ring of orcs that blocked her view as surely as would a brick wall. Buffy forced her uncooperative legs to follow her lead, curling them beneath her until she was once more kneeling with her head bowed towards the stake that held her prisoner. Grunting, she leaned back to try and test the strength of the chain - and then whimpered as the metal bit into flesh that had already seen too much abuse.

Tears stinging her eyes, Buffy quickly leaned forward to ease the tension as she turned her head to the side - and felt the world freeze as the wall of orcs shifted slightly so that an opening appeared between an orc's legs, an opening that allowed her an unobstructed view of Legolas, stretched out on the ground so tautly that his arms and legs, staked to the ground above and below him, were stretched to their limits - and perhaps beyond.

The elf's tunic was more torn than she remembered, his face pale and impassive despite his jeering crowd of onlookers - and despite the large, blood-stained knife that one orc had jammed into the archer's thigh until the hilt was pressed against the bloody fabric.

"Sure you don't have something you want to say? One scream and we'll make it stop... for now."

"I sure as hell have something to say!" Buffy called out, forcing the hoarse words past her swollen throat as she struggled to be heard above the raucous cries of the excited onlookers - a struggle that was easier won than she had anticipated as a thick silence fell over the orcs as one by one, they slowly turned and parted until she had an undivided audience. "Although," she added as the orc with the knife slowly rose from his crouched position, "I'm suddenly having a hard time remembering what was so important."

"Buffy!" Legolas gasped, his voice sounding far weaker than he would have liked as he broke his silence for the first time as he craned his neck to glare at the small blonde. "I told you to-"

"Oh, now I remember," Buffy chirped as one look at the elf's blue, pain-filled eyes caused her anger to simmer. The reminder that Legolas was about to give to his stupid idea of her staying quiet so that he could get the crap kicked out of him in peace didn't help, either. "I was just going to point out that _you_," she continued as she jutted her chin at the orc that slowly toyed with the knife, "are the ugliest demon that I have ever had the displeasure of seeing. Not to mention that you smell like really bad, moldy ass. I can even smell you all the way over here. I couldn't even stay unconscious because of your stench. I'm-"

"Just begging to be next," the orc finished, his eyes narrowed into deadly slits as he began to advance through the parted wall of orcs.

Smiling sweetly, Buffy shrugged her shoulders as best as possible from her bent position. "Maybe," she admitted as the orc party shifted to her side of camp. "Or maybe I'm just hoping you'll give me the opportunity to make _you_ scream," she added, her voice turning hard as she tried her best to imitate the glare that Thoron had been using on her the last couple of days. Unsuccessfully, or so it seemed, for instead of recoiling, the orc's crooked grin merely grew as he waved a few of his friends forward.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be," Buffy grunted as one of the orcs pinned her chain to the ground with his heavy, booted foot, once more pressing her cheek against the churned ground as she bent over her knees. "Just gonna-" she began as two pairs of heavy hands dug into her shoulders and effectively pinned her forward as another worked at the lock on the chains that bound her hands.

Not quite believing her luck, Buffy ceased her struggles as in seconds she felt the familiar, heavy weight fall free. Yet before she could move, she felt the press of bodies around her increase as the creatures began pulling at the edges of her long, battered leather jacket until they worked the material free of her hurting arms - which was the moment that she had been waiting for.

Arms slipping free, Buffy quickly reached forward and wrapped her small hands around the ankle of the orc that pinned her neck chain to the ground and pushed him back with all of her waning strength. Grunting, she then rolled forward, free of the press of bodies as she came to her knees, reaching for a heavy stone that lay in the dirt before her - and then gasped and brought her hands to her throat as her chain was jerked from behind, causing her to fall back to the ground in a splay of battered limbs.

In seconds the orcs were upon her with a fervor that they usually reserved for her companion as fists and pointed toes beat against her already hurting body. It was as though a storm had been unleashed upon her as old cuts were reopened, new flesh torn, aching muscles wrenched, and as already bruised ribs finally cracked beneath the onslaught and stole her breath from her in a fiery wave that she was hopeless to regain.

Yet as suddenly as it had begun, the storm was over as the orcs stepped back to allow Buffy to fall in a boneless heap at their feet, heeding their leader's call. Blood-matted hair strewn beneath her bruised cheek, she gasped for a breath that pooled in her aching lungs like liquid, wheezing between cracked lips as the sound of rushing water slowly began to fade from her ears. Coughing, the slayer weakly curled into a small, protective ball as the loud voices of the orcs once more grated against her sensitive hearing - that and the familiar, frantic voice of Legolas as he alternated calling to her with cursing the orcs in a language that she couldn't understand. Or maybe that was a couple of different languages that he was using, for one sounded far too abrupt and grating for his musical voice.

"Back to work!"

Cringing as the familiar orc voice originated directly over her covered head, Buffy concentrated on each breath that she tried to bring into her aching lungs. "We'll have more time to play with 'em later. 'Sides - don't want to spoil the goods too quickly, do we now?"

Blocking out everything but the thumping of her own heart, Buffy fought the magnetic pull of unconsciousness as she heard the orc voices slowly begin to fade. She was hurt - oh was she ever hurt - and yet her concern for Legolas as well as her own stubbornness refused to allow her such an escape as she willed the world to stop spinning.

"Buffy? Buffy are you alright? Can you-"

"I'm okay," Buffy gasped as she turned and met Legolas' frantic eyes. "I'll be okay," she amended as a deep cough caused her shoulders to shake and a soft groan to escape her lips.

Sighing, Legolas finally allowed the tension to leave his hurting body as he sagged against the blood-stained earth beneath him. While it wasn't exactly the reassurance that he had been looking for, he supposed that it was most likely the best that he would be getting. It wasn't as though he would have been able to give much better. Buffy had thankfully been unconscious for the majority of the orc's fun, and he had the numerous lacerations and deep cuts to prove it. It felt as though his body was afire with a warm, searing pain that stretched from one cut to the next stab wound - all slowly draining him of his life's blood as his strong elven body struggled to close the bloody wounds. "I told you to stay quiet," he murmured as he rolled his head to the side, watching as Buffy turned to spit out what looked to be a mouthful of dark red blood.

"Yeah, well I don't work that way," Buffy returned as she worked to clear the fluids from her lungs - realizing that it probably wasn't a good sign that the fluid looked to be blood. Then again, she had done much the same after her initial run-in with the Turok-Han a few months back, and she had lived through that horrible night - despite her myriad of internal injuries. "Why'd they stop?" she asked as she tried to discern what hurt worse and where.

"Be grateful they did," Legolas returned, his breath hitching slightly in his throat as he struggled to control the tremors that he had forcefully been holding at bay. He would never allow the orcs to see the pain that they caused. He would rather die than do so. His head fell back to the ground, and his eyes instinctively turned towards the brightly-lit heavens above.

"Oh, all about the grateful right now," Buffy admitted as she tried to shift and then quickly discarded that idea as her broken ribs violently protested against such a stupid idea. "Just wondering how long till the party starts again."

"Not long enough."

Frowning at the elf's uncharacteristically bleak words, Buffy turned to look at her elven companion, hazel eyes squinting as she fought to make him out in the darkness... the darkness.

Recoiling slightly as her eyes snapped to his dimly glowing skin, Buffy finally realized why she was having so much trouble making out Legolas in the dark night. It was as though the eel part of Legolas was slowly dying out or something. He had been so bright just the night before - was it only really the night before? - and yet with each passing hour, it seemed as though his glow began to fade just a bit more. And for some reason, Buffy had the feeling that this wasn't a good thing.

_"Death can still claim us. Whether it be by mortal wound or by grief, we do die."_

Worrying her lip, Buffy felt her pain drift away as she looked at her companion with shadowed eyes. "Legolas, how can an elf die of grief?"

Smiling sadly, Legolas forced his eyes away from the bright light of Erendil, his sharp gaze meeting Buffy's without hesitation. "It is rare, but it does happen," he murmured as his eyes returned to the stars that were so beloved to his kind, his thoughts drifting far away to a brother that he remembered so clearly, even if he had known him for less than fifty of his over five hundred years. "Human hearts recover more quickly than do ours. You are gifted with the ability to forget and time fades the sting of your wounds, but our memories carry on with us, as clear as the day they were crafted" he murmured, his voice solemn. "If a soul becomes so weighted down by grief, it can choose to release its hold on the body and willingly travel to the Halls of Mandos."

"And does your... does your glow have anything to do with it?" Buffy asked, voicing her fears aloud as Legolas turned to her, a small smile pulling at his lips as he laughed softly, the sound a soothing balm to her weary spirit.

"In a way," he admitted, his smile turning wry. "It reflects the strength of my spirit."

"But you're not really very glowy right now," Buffy pointed out, a frown pulling at her lips.

Laughing once more, this time without mirth, Legolas nodded in agreement. "I fear that my body is feeling a bit too... strained, at the moment. But you need not worry," he assured as he smiled softly. "My friends are what bind me to this world and prevent me from sailing with my kin to the Undying Lands. I shall not fade while they still draw breath," he stated, repeating the promise that he had made to himself long ago.

Smiling wistfully, Buffy looked away as she, too, looked to the heavens... and felt her smile falter as she realized that the stars were in all the wrong places here. They were so very different than the ones back home. Brighter and closer to the ground. They were different here, and yet another reminder of the fact that this wasn't her world. It wasn't her home. She had been banished from her own home. _This_ was now her home.

"It sounds like your friends really mean a lot to you," Buffy murmured, her thoughts inevitably drifting to the family that she had been forced to leave behind... and those that had been forced to leave her in ways that were meant to last forever. "Will you tell me about them?" she asked as Legolas looked at her, silent understanding shining in his bright eyes.

"Of course," he agreed, his voice solemn as his eyes drifted to the heavens, a small smile pulling at his lips. "My oldest and one of my dearest mortal friends is a Man who goes by many names. Many, _many_ names," he stressed, his smile growing as he thought of his dear friend, King now of all of Men, as was his rightful heritage. "In his youth he was known as Estel. Later, some called him Strider. But I, myself, have always known him as Aragorn..."


	11. Chapter 11

**Equinoxium: Chapter 11  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

The night waned as the moon crested in the sky, the weak light of _Isil_ filtering through the thick, gnarled branches and bathing the odd party with his pale light. Slowly they moved through the darkness, scattered torches lighting their way as the twin sons of Elrond led along a path that was easily marked with trampled earth and broken branches, the trees lamenting the destruction that the orcs had caused the tainted wood. Glowing eyes followed their movements - eyes that shadowed the party as the large black spiders of Mirkwood scuttled in the branches high above, causing the trees to quake and the branches to shift with sounds that echoed like dry, brittle bones slowly being rubbed against one another.

The Men that accompanied the elves were beyond wearied, their horses stumbling more often than not as the company continued a hunt that had spanned for leagues from Rhosgobel to this darkness, stopping for only the briefest of respites as they continued on into the night. Yet despite the weariness that each man felt, not a single soul thought to halt their search - or to even delay their progress with a few hours rest. The Dnedain, long-descended from the firstborn, had dedicated their lives long ago to keeping the lands around them safe from Sauron's evil. Even with the Dark Lord destroyed now nine years past, their quest and dedication would not falter as darkness still roamed their earth - as innocent young maidens continued to fall prey to the dark.

"Can you read anything else in the tracks?" Halbarad asked as he maneuvered his horse until he rode in between the twin sons of Elrond, their eyes never straying from the path that they followed. "Can you not tell us anything more of the condition of Lord Legolas and the girl with whom he traveled?"

"Nay, nothing for certain," Elladan sighed as he urged his horse onward. "The tread of heavy orc feet have distorted much that we would read, yet I _can_ say that it appears as though they were driven hard, passing through here sometime during the previous night."

"The tracks here seem more irregular than when they set out," Elrohir added, his tone becoming thoughtful as his eyes caught hint of a print that was too small for either orc or elf from where it crossed paths with that which unmistakably belonged to the elf prince they hunted. "They must have been driven hard indeed, for even Legolas' steps begin to become uneven... and yet-"

"What? What do you see?" Halbarad demanded as his trained eyes scanned the ground before them. While the Rangers of the North were known for their tracking skills, their decades - and for some, even centuries worth of experience paled in comparison to the millennium's worth that could be found between the Eldar with whom they traveled.

"I am puzzled," the younger twin admitted, his lips creased in a small frown, "for I agree with Elladan that the speed at which they traveled by foot must have been great indeed, and yet the young _Edain_ seems to have fared no worse than Legolas. But how can that be?" he murmured, his smooth forehead creasing in puzzlement. "How can a child of Man, a woman no less, keep such a strenuous pace for so many hours into the night?"

Riding slightly behind the twin lords of Rivendell, Thoron was no more aware of their questioning gazes than the brown horse that he rode into the darkness, Andrann trotting softly beside Rodwen as the rest of the Men followed in their wake. Instead, his weary mind traveled a far different path as he thought to the daughter and king that yet awaited him across the great seas in the Undying Lands. In a way, his wife would also be waiting for him in Valinor, having long since passed on to the Halls of Mandos during the First Age when the world was yet new to his kind. He longed to leave the darkness that coated the woods that were once his home. He had no desire to watch as his race slowly faded from these shores. Instead, he desired to travel to where the world was yet green - where it would forevermore be green. He wanted to go to where the sun would forever shine, where the stars were always bright, and where the voices of his kin would never again be lifted in grief or lament. He wanted to go to where his beloved daughter and her husband awaited him - a daughter that Legolas had never met as she had voyaged over the sea thousands of years before his birth.

He wanted to go home.

* * *

Arms stretched painfully above his head, it took everything in Legolas' power to hold back the pained scream that threatened to burst from his tightly clenched lips. The night was waning and morning fast approaching, but not fast enough. The torture had been an unending game for the orcs that had taken them captive, with only small respites in between each session that grew longer and more painful as the night continued. From elf to slayer, the orcs took in their entertainment as they delighted in both inflicting pain as well as reveling in the panic that was brought to the captive that was forced to watch their companion's quiet agony. It was misery beyond comprehension and Legolas could only be grateful that Buffy was once more unconscious and unable to bear witness to the orc's latest cruelty.

Stiffening as the scalding metal was once more waved in a slow arc beside his bruised cheek, Legolas felt his skin begin to burn by the heat alone as the audience's loud, raucous cries battered against his sensitive ears, their thirst for blood having not yet been quenched by the night's activities. His arms and legs ached from being stretched beyond their limits for so many hours, prohibiting even the smallest of movements as another orc stepped forward, a small familiar dagger clutched in one hand.

Blue eyes slid shut to hide sight of the hated weapon that was responsible for many of the searing, crimson wounds that were covered with clotted blood. Legolas waited for the blade to be driven forward, piercing cloth and flesh and limb, sliding through meat and tissue, refracting off of smooth white bone to be driven into the dirt below. First would come pressure and heat, then wetness around the smooth skin that bordered the blade, and as the knife was pulled free, then would come pain.

The pain would overshadow even his body's most rudimentary needs as his lungs would forget to draw breath, his heart to pump blood, and as his mouth would fall open in a soundless scream.

It felt as though seconds would pass.

Minutes.

Hours unnumbered before the initial pain would fall back into a throbbing ache as his lungs once more struggled for breath, as his heart pushed the blood through his body and out into the night air from the deep wound, and as his mouth would once more snap shut as he forced his scream back into the furthest corners of his mind and soul.

He was helpless before these creatures - of that there was no question. Control had been taken from him, and yet Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and Lord of Ithilien, friend to Kings and Lords alike - and the small elfling that had been forced to watch the cruelty of this horrible race centuries before - would rather die before gifting his captors with that one scream.

It was the one thing he had left that was his alone.

And yet the expected agony of the hated knife once more being driven into his hurting body never came.

Pain-sharpened eyes snapped open and Legolas watched as the orc slowly lowered the blade's edge to the front of his bloodied tunic and then carefully drew the knife down the middle of the heavy fabric. With the soft sound of tearing cloth as each thread snapped before the sharp edge, the blade cut through the tunic and undershirt below until the mottled bluish-purple bruises on his pale, lightly glowing chest were revealed before the parted fabric.

Frowning, instinctively understanding that no good could come of such a development, Legolas lifted his weary eyes to those standing above him - and recoiled as the hatred in the orc's eyes pierced his soul with the utter disgust and contempt found within those dark orbs. He had seen hatred before, had before been the target of such animosity, but never to such a degree.

It wasn't his deeds or actions that caused such loathing.

It was his very existence - his very right to walk the same earth as the orc that stood before him that caused the anger to burn in the other's eyes.

And then anger and loathing, orcs and elves - _everything_ was forgotten as the orc lowered his ruby red, glowing metal staff until the heated end was pressed against the smooth flesh of his chest. In that moment, truly nothing existed as the ugly instrument, long left amongst the brightly burning coals of a nearby fire, ate through muscle and flesh with a slow, torturous speed that finally unlocked the scream from the elf's throat. It was a heat that rivaled the fiery pits of Mount Doom itself, an agony unrealized as the thin notes of the elf's scream caused the very forest around them to shudder with a barely remembered fury at what was being done to a creature of a race they once knew.

Awakened by the scream, Buffy instinctively surged forward, only to fall in a strangled heap as her neck chain reminded her of its painful presence. Cursing vehemently as her hands, once more bound behind her, took the brunt of her slight weight, the slayer lay still for a moment as the scream slowly died away.

Her body was failing her, her slayer strength long-since departed as thirst and hunger warred against the almost-constant feelings of nausea that wracked her broken frame. She was a slayer - the chosen champion to fight against the darkness, and yet there was nothing she could do against such cruelties. The chains were too thick and heavy, her body too sore and broken to bend such strong metal. If given a moment, she imagined that she could count the broken ribs that shifted with each pained movement, and the whips...

While the brown leather of her halter had been thick enough to prevent the skin from being laid open along her back, there had been little it could do to prevent the long path of stinging welts that she knew marked the skin beneath - nor could it save the bruised skin of her arms as the leather thong wrapped across her back and tore open the flesh it could find. The ugly slashes, reopened by her abrupt movements, bled freely as they covered her arms in blood.

As another pained scream pierced the graying night, Buffy felt her pain fade as her concern rose to the foreground of her mind. "Legolas," she mumbled, the name sounding thick and foreign on her tongue as she attempted to roll to her knees - and faltered as a heavy foot easily rolled her until she was lying on her back, her hands pinned painfully beneath her.

"And where are you going?"

Green eyes raked over the orc that towered over her, and Buffy sneered as she recognized the creature's bent frame. At first glance, he was an orc like any other with black, mottled skin, patchy, lank black hair and dark eyes that alternated between glowering in hatred and hungrily devouring her. Large, brutish, and ugly - smelling of things better left unmentioned - his uniqueness stemmed only from the fact that during the course of the night, he appeared far more interested in eating _her_ than Legolas.

"Anywhere where you're not," Buffy returned, a flicker of her earlier fire returning under the orc's hungry gaze as she shifted uselessly beneath his heavy foot.

Black tongue darting between yellow teeth, the orc quickly dropped so that one knee was pressed into the dirt beside her while the other dug into her broken chest, causing a series of fireworks to ignite behind her tightly clenched eyes. "Others say to Vashnak that elf-flesh is better than man-flesh. Vashnak disagrees."

Breath hitching in her throat as tears stung the corners of her eyes, Buffy bit back her gasp of agony as his bony knee pushed against broken ribs and ground them against those that were still whole. She couldn't breathe and the world began to darken as she forced her eyes to open, forced herself to look at the creature that was slowly lowering his face towards her own.

"Such a pretty little thing," he hissed as he lifted a small dagger, toying with the handle before slowly pressing the blade against her cheek and bringing it down in a long, bloody arc.

Oblivious to this small pain amongst the agony that was building in her chest, knowing that she was close to passing out again, Buffy turned her eyes away from the orc called Vashnak and to the sky beyond. The night was beginning to lighten with the coming day - a day that she was beginning to believe that she would never see. The thought saddened her more than she had imagined it would, even as the thought of seeing Giles again caused her aching heart to hurt just a little bit less. It had only been less than a week since she had last seen her Watcher, a few days less than that since the First Evil had paraded about in his image, and yet she missed him desperately. He had always been her rock when the rest of the world had become confused. When he had gone away the year before, she had become lost without him. She was twenty-two years old, and yet she needed him to be the father that would never abandon her; the father who would always guide her and lead her from the darkness and into the light. Now... perhaps now she would find both her mother _and_ Giles waiting for her, ready to lead her back home.

Feeling warm breath wash over her, Buffy wearily returned her eyes to Vashnak as he lowered his face to hers, his long black tongue sliding free to trail a wet path over her bloody cheek. Aware enough to still feel disgust, the slayer tried to turn away as the orc lavishly worked his hard, grainy tongue over her battered features, his lips pulling at the torn edges of the jagged cut to draw more blood from the wound. As the wet sucking sound filled her hearing until there was nothing else, Buffy felt a small shudder shake her battered frame.

This was too much.

After everything else that had happened over the course of the past twenty-four hours, this obscene and grotesque display was just too much.

Buffy felt that small flicker of fire blaze into a roaring inferno as she jerked her head forcefully to the side, ignoring the pain of bruised flesh as the collar pulled against the raw skin. For a moment the pressure on her chest was lessened, and Buffy greedily regained her breath to let free one last tirade. "Listen, asshole, do you see a 'suck me' sign anywhere?" she demanded as the orc straightened, his eyes narrowed upon her. "I didn't think so because _this_ face is both suck and lick free. You got it? I mean, that was just... that was just-" she began, only to falter as the orc's expression suddenly went blank.

Frowning, Buffy felt a coil of fear ripple down her spine as something seemed to _shift_ in the orc as his face became twisted into a grotesque mask of agony. Eyes growing wide, she watched as the orc tumbled back and onto the ground beside her, a loud, high-pitched keen trilling from his lips as his body began to shake. Horrified, Buffy used her feet to slowly push herself as far as possible from the convulsing body with the short chain still connecting her to the blood-stained ground. A thick silence fell upon the rest of the clearing, the eyes of orcs and elf alike turning to her and Vashnak.

Which was when all hell broke loose.

It was as though the sky had begun to rain arrows as the strangled shrieks of the orcs drowned out the cry of Vashnak as he clawed and flopped on the ground like a fish gasping for air. Soon, even those cries were lost as figures cloaked in darkness erupted from the twisted trees of the bordering forest, their voices calling out cries of war and battle as they charged with long swords held high.

The sight was magnificent and exhilarating, and Buffy became torn between watching her tormentors be struck down by the black-fletched arrows, or as they were hewed by the long swords, or as Vashnak slowly began to crawl towards the yawning mouth of the caves behind her. Then even that option was stolen from her as an orc lunged towards her, ratcheted sword cutting through the air with a sharp whistle as it sang towards her head.

Moving on instinct alone, the sudden rush of adrenaline buried her pain as she rolled to the back and side, ignoring her wounds as she followed the small circle that the chain around her neck allowed. As the sword became buried in the ground where her head rested only seconds before, Buffy, once more lying on her battered arms, kicked out with her legs and caught the orc beneath the chin, sending the ugly beast staggering back... and into the sword point of a familiar, tall, brown-haired elf behind him.

Eyes growing wide, Buffy felt as though the rest of the battle melted away as she met Thoron's startled gaze. He seemed almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him. While the unexpected arrival of the strange group seemed to indicate allies and a good turn of events for her and Legolas, she hadn't had time to even think about who their saviors might be, or who might be amongst them.

"Thoron, we have found Legolas!"

Spell broken, both she and the elf turned as they looked to where Legolas had been staked for most of the evening. However, instead of seeing the blond elf or the one with the musical voice that had called out to the advisor, all Buffy could make out were orc feet and orc carcasses as the troupe struggled against Thoron's companions. Frowning, Buffy began to roll back to her knees when she saw that Thoron had already left her side as the tall elf quickly made his way through the tight pack of fighting bodies and towards his bound prince.

"Gee, thanks for the help!" Buffy called out as she glared in the departing elf's direction - and then rolled once more as her senses barely warned her of the sword that was cutting a low arc towards her neck. Features tight, Buffy finished the roll to her knees, now on the other side of her little circle of pain, and pressed her forehead against the ground as she lashed out with her foot. As the dry sound of shattering bone rang out like sweet music to her ears, she lifted her head in time to watch as the orc, the one who had been taunting her with the keys all night long, tumbled to the ground just outside of her circle, his neck crushed and his head hanging at an odd angle - which was when her broken ribs chose to remind her of their sorry state.

Moaning softly, Buffy's head fell forward as she leaned over her knees, her forehead pressed against the ground with her bound hands hanging limply down her back. "This sucks," she grumbled, her breath wheezing between dry, bloody lips as she tried to regain that wonderful rush that had momentarily kept the pain at bay.

"Here, my Lady, lie still."

Jerking back, Buffy straightened as best as she could as she came face to face with-

"A man? You're a man," Buffy exclaimed, her expression slightly dazed as she cocked her head to the side, taking in the guy who was kneeling opposite her, gray eyes carefully darting between her and the fight that continued to be waged around them. He looked to be about Giles' age, mid-forties with long, shaggy brown hair that looked as though it hadn't seen a bathtub in weeks. Deep lines creased his forehead and marked the corner of each gray eye, his nose long and aristocratically straight, with a strong chin to match. His clothes added to his care-worn appearance, dark in color and bearing the mark of one who hadn't seen a shopping mall in... well, never. Frowning, Buffy looked past the man and finally took note of those who had joined Thoron in his assault upon the orcs that had taken her and Legolas captive. "You're all men," she noted, her confusion growing.

"Aye, my Lady, that we are," the man agreed, a small smile belying his grim appearance. "My name is Halbarad of the Dnedain," he added, as though that would help to either ease her worries or explain their presence. When neither happened, he turned his inspection to the chains that bound her to the ground as the sounds of battle continued to ring through the early morning. "I need a key," he murmured, his eyes straying from the locks to the small woman's strange clothing and extremely battered appearance. She was petite in stature, and while he could understand why Thoron would mistake her age, the old ranger estimated her to be older than the elf had stated - closer to twenty and certainly past any title of girl or child. No, she was certainly a lady - one that had seen too much horror this night.

Heart tightening in his chest, his gaze swept over the long cut that bled freely down her cheek, the bruises that decorated the fine bones of her face, arms and collar bone, the whip marks that revealed loose, torn flesh and muscle, the raw, ragged ring that circled the graceful arch of her neck... he was sure that before this night, she had probably been quite lovely. However, her wounds were so extensive that scarring would be inevitable, her beauty lost amongst so much ruin. And these were just the wounds to which his eyes were privy - although the strange clothing that she wore really didn't leave a lot to his imagination. "I need a key," he repeated as he forcibly turned his eyes away from the tight leather that bound her slender legs and hips, which revealed her incredibly small waist and dipped enticingly low over her... "I need a key."

Rolling her eyes at the conclusion that she had come to within minutes of finding herself in chains she couldn't break, Buffy quickly jerked her head to the side. "Well instead of telling me for the _fourth_ time, why don't you check with Big Ugly," she suggested as she indicated the orc whose neck she had just crushed with a well-placed kick.

Turning to follow her gaze, Halbarad rose and moved towards the dead orc, his movements quick yet careful as he bypassed those still fighting about them... and then frowned as he saw neither wound by arrow nor sword, but rather what appeared to be a very broken neck. Frown deepening, the old ranger slowly crouched beside the dead creature as he automatically processed the strength that would be needed for such a blow, and then turned back towards the petite young woman with the long blonde hair - and vaguely tried to understand why all of the signs indicated that the killing blow had come from where she was currently resting. Arching a bushy eyebrow at her innocent expression, he pushed the puzzling question aside as he rifled through the orc's belongings until he found the large key that he had been looking for.

"I have found the key," he stated as he returned to the young woman's side and began reaching for the manacles that bound her slender, bloody wrists.

"Well la-dee-freaking-dah," Buffy retorted, grimacing as even his gentle movements jarred her raw wrists. Yet the moment that the familiar dead weights fell free, the slayer forgot even her most sarcastic side as she brought her arms slowly before her, her green eyes sweeping over the damage for the first time. "Eww," Buffy murmured, her nose wrinkling as she took in wrists that looked far too red and black to be hers. Then again, with how heavy and numb they felt, they could very well have belonged to someone else.

"Now just the... collar," Halbarad continued, stumbling over the ugly word for what had been forced around her slender neck. Feeling the anger build within him, the ranger forced his hands to remain steady as the young woman obligingly tilted her head forward, one hand raising to brush her long, blood-matted blonde hair to the side to reveal the lock that held her. Within seconds, that lock, too, fell away as he threw the damned ring to the side and then helped her to her feet. "Just head to the safety of the trees," he stated as he directed her towards the tree line. "My men and I will join you once we-"

Twirling out of his gentle hold, Buffy reached for an abandoned sword and swung the short blade at the orc that was lunging for the man's back. Ignoring the pain that flared in her battered wrists at the force with which she applied, the slayer drew the short blade along the orc's neck, ripping through black flesh as a deluge of dark blood stained the earth at her feet. Jumping back with less than her usual grace, Buffy grimaced at the mess, watching the dead orc fall to the ground before finally turning back to her rescuer.

"Sorry, you were saying?" she asked, arching a slender brow at the man that stared at her as though she had bared fangs while asking if he'd like a spot of tea. Yet instead of allowing him to continue, Buffy turned as once more her frayed senses alerted her to a threat that she was almost too late to avoid. Cringing as metal rang against metal, Buffy lifted her eyes to glare at the orc that pushed his sword against her own.

"Hey, I know you," she grunted as her aching wrists began to tremble under the strain. "You were the one with the whip," she finished, her eyes narrowing into twin slits as she forced her way forward, the swords sliding free of one another as she completed the arc before the orc had a chance to, the blade once more finding flesh. Yet before she had a chance to spit on the orc's smelly carcass for all of the pain that he had caused, a semi-truck slammed against her from behind.

Spinning around as she staggered towards the mountain wall behind her, Buffy noticed that her semi-truck was actually a very large, brutish orc with a sword that he was quickly bringing around to relieve her head from her body. Lifting her own sword, Buffy brought it against his just in time as her back slammed against the wall of stone behind her, her teeth rattling with the impact.

Wincing as her battered wrists began to tremble under the strain, speaking nothing of the agony of her broken ribs, Buffy looked past her new opponent and locked eyes with the man that had saved her... and continued to watch her with eyes drawn wide with shock. "You know, I could use a little help over here!" she ground between clenched teeth as her wrists began to buckle beneath the orc's heavy weight.

Shaking his head, Halbarad stared at the petite woman for a moment longer before finally raising his sword. With a great bellow that rang off of the craggy mountain walls, he voiced his battle cry and once more joined the fray.


	12. Chapter 12

**Equinoxium: Chapter 12  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Shaking his head in mute wonder, Legolas attempted to ignore Elladan and Elrohir's incessant bickering as the twins continued to argue over the best method to release the chains that had held him captive for so many hours.

"No, Elrohir, I tell you that even a dwarf's axe would find this metal far too strong for its blade. We must devise another method to free our dear prince."

"And what would you suggest, my brother? That we cut his wrists from his arms and his feet from his ankles in order to set him free? A fine sight that would make indeed!"

"I would suggest that you both use the brains that Lord Elrond and Lady Celebran were so kind to gift you with," Thoron cut in as he pushed his way through the circle of rangers that protected the three from the battle that was being waged without. However, the moment his dark eyes fell upon his lord, bloody, beaten, and pale chest bare to the dawning sky with ugly red burns pressed into his fair skin, the remainder of his reprimand was forgotten. "My lord," he whispered, his face paling as he stumbled forward, his gaze darkening as his eyes swept over the damage that had been wrought in his absence.

"Thoron," Legolas acknowledged, torn between feeling strangely comforted by the older elf's presence and wanting to cringe at being seen in such a compromised position. With a resigned sigh, his head fell back to the blood-stained earth beneath him, his eyes seeking out the comforting light of _Erendil_ above. There was little he could do about it now, even if the current situation did little to support his case that he really didn't _need_ a bodyguard. If anything, he was quite sure that Thoron was now going to be sticking even closer to his side than usual - an idea that didn't exactly cause his heart to swell with joy.

"Well what are you waiting for? Get him out of those chains!" Thoron hissed, his features becoming pinched as he rudely shoved one of the twins to the side, all thoughts of proper decorum fleeing beneath the sudden rush of blood to his purpling face.

Eyes turning to his twin in amusement, Elladan gracefully rose to his full height as he watched the advisor inspect the large locks. "That, Master Thoron, was exactly what we had been discussing. It is simply a matter of devising the proper method to... how did you do that?" he demanded, his eyes growing wide as one of the manacles fell away from Legolas' slender wrist.

"By picking the lock, of course," Thoron returned, his voice grim as he hurried to work on the other one.

"You... picked the lock?" Elrohir asked, his voice faint as he looked from his twin to the stern elf. "But how did you-"

"He's a wood-elf. Need you any more of an explanation?" Elladan smoothly cut in as the other manacle fell to the ground, freeing Thoron to work on Legolas' bound ankles.

"Well do not look at me," Legolas returned with a small, pained smile as Elrohir helped him to sit forward for the first time in hours, his hands gingerly massaging his red, aching wrists. "He has never taught me to do such a thing," the fair-haired wood elf added as Elladan immediately knelt by his other side, long, pale fingers probing the broken skin as Elrohir's serious gaze turned to the many other wounds that had been dealt to the prince's hurting body.

"And for good reason," Thoron returned as one of the ankle chains fell away, his eyes briefly lifting to Legolas' innocent face. "You and your brothers managed to get in enough trouble on your own. I need not have added to your mayhem."

Rolling his eyes good naturedly, Legolas waited for the other manacle to fall away before he attempted to climb to his feet - and immediately regretted doing so as the world began to spin and as his many wounds protested such foolishness. Eyes slipping shut, he felt two pairs of strong arms wrap around his waist, gently easing him back to the ground as he waited for his equilibrium to once more be reestablished.

"Are you well?" Elrohir asked, his features creasing in concern as he took in the weak glow of his friend's skin, only to frown as he realized that no, Legolas was obviously anything _but_ fine. He had been a prisoner of orcs for a full day - their entertainment for far too many hours - and already he could see the evidence of their gruesome play from where it painted the prince's battered body.

"I will live," Legolas returned, his words soft as he opened his eyes and, ignoring the elves' quiet protests, pushed himself to stand. Biting back a soft moan of pain, he forced his trembling legs to straighten as gentle hands lent their support. He swayed slightly before he found his balance, forcing a small, pinched smile for his friends. "And while your timely arrival does come as a welcome surprise, I must add that it certainly took you both long enough to get here."

"I apologize for the delay," the younger twin began, his gray eyes twinkling as he his grip on Legolas' arm loosened. "It has been centuries since we have had to rescue the young Prince of Mirkwood and I feel that we may be a bit rusty."

Smiling gently at his friends, Legolas allowed Thoron to drape his cloak over his shoulders, helping to cover the remains of his tattered tunic as he inclined his head slightly towards the men that stood guard around them. "Since you continue to hold company with the Rangers of the North, I can hardly fault your delay," he stated, his smile beginning to falter as his blue eyes swept over the battle that he was able to glimpse through the gathered men. Orc screams still echoed in the graying morning as the Rangers moved through the clearing like a wave of death. Death that was almost his. "I fear that things would not have ended well had you not," he murmured as he gazed down upon the burns that branded his chest, his body radiating a strange heat from his many wounds. So much pain and suffering this night, for both him and...

"Buffy," Legolas stated, his face paling as he instinctively turned in the direction that she had been kept during her own personal torment. "Where is Buffy?" he demanded as he started forward, pushing past the Rangers and nearly stepping into the mayhem before Elladan pulled him back.

"Who?" Elrohir demanded as he stepped beside his friend and brother, his eyes piercing the dark shadows that yet remained as he searched for the stranger of whom Legolas spoke.

"Buffy, she-"

"I saw her," Thoron admitted as his lord's gaze turned towards him, "just a moment past. I.. I believe that she was with Halbarad," he continued, a small flush infusing his cheeks. It wasn't entirely an untruth, for he was almost positive that the Man had been following him when he had run across the girl. What went unspoken was the fact that he had abandoned her only moments after stumbling upon her. After all, his loyalty, and ultimately his concern, did not rest with the strange girl. Rather, his sole concern lay with the young elf that was currently looking at him in a way that reminded him greatly of the prince's king and father.

Eyes narrowing upon the brown-haired advisor that looked almost guilty, Legolas was about to question him further when a severed orc head rolled through the melee to rock against his booted feet. Even as the others backed away in disgust, Legolas smiled as he lifted his head to see Buffy push through the crowd of fighters to stand before him.

She looked horrible, her clothing splattered with black blood, a large jagged cut marring her cheek, and her body coated in a wet sheen of red. She clutched a short, gore-encrusted sword in one bloody hand with her other arm gently encircling her small waist. Slowly, she lifted her green, dazed eyes and smiled softly at Legolas - before the sword fell from her quivering fingers and her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. Forgetting his own injuries, Legolas was at her side in seconds as the twins clustered around him, the scattered rangers following suit.

"Buffy-"

"Just... just give me a minute," Buffy stated, her words coming between panted breaths as she tried to keep the world from spinning. "A bit dizzy," she admitted as she closed her eyes and willed the noxious bile to go back to her hurting stomach where it belonged; that and the blood that still coated her tongue and filled her mouth with the sharp tang of copper. Grimacing, she turned her head to the side and spit out a mouthful of the cloying fluid before lifting her eyes once more - and frowned as she took in not two elves, but four. Although...

"I think I may have hit my head harder than I thought," Buffy mumbled as Legolas and one of the men gently helped her to her feet. "I'm seeing double," she admitted as she looked back and forth between the two elves that looked identical from the tips of their lustrous, long brown hair that trailed over shoulders that were just a bit broader than Legolas and Thoron's, to the bottoms of their matching gray boots.

"I am afraid that you are not - seeing double, that is," Legolas corrected as he nodded to his friends. "They are twins," he stated as each elf bowed in turn, their curious eyes dancing back and forth from the bloody sword that lay at her feet, to the orc head that continued to roll down a slow incline and into the forest beyond, and the obvious trail of destruction that stretched past her small frame.

"Twins?" Buffy returned, green eyes growing wide as she took in the flawless clear skin, the perfectly sculpted noses and lips, the pointed ears, the long, lean bodies... Smiling slightly, a bit dazed, Buffy nodded to each in turn - and then groaned as Halbarad joined their small group, his grizzled face flushed as he glared at her.

"My Lady, I bade you to wait-"

"And I told you to quit following me!" Buffy cut in as she scowled at the tall, dour-looking man. "I'm perfectly capable of... oh boy," she trailed off, her tirade forgotten as her broken ribs and other injuries once more reminded her of their presence. Grimacing, Buffy quickly wrapped her arms around her waist as she struggled to breathe the liquid that seemed to be filling her lungs. "Ooh, ow," she groaned as she felt Legolas' arm slide around her shoulders, helping to lower her to the ground as her legs began to falter.

In seconds, the twins were upon her as the long, pale hands of two of the most experienced healers in all of Middle-earth began inspecting her injuries. Smiling wryly, Legolas stepped to the side as they fussed over various cuts and abrasions, ignoring her protests as their features became schooled into solemn masks. Expertly they fingered the lash marks and searched for the hidden welts, their eyes probing her own as they demanded descriptions of what hurt worse and where. It was the discovery of the broken ribs, however, that truly set them off as they immediately began pulling at the hem of her leather halter, easing the tight material to her bust to reveal patches of tanned skin that were barely visible beneath the many layers of ugly bruises that marred her abdomen and colored her form.

Hiding an amused smile behind one dirty, blood-stained hand, Legolas turned away from Buffy and the twins - and frowned as he noticed the rest of the Rangers that were gathered about them. Apparently the fighting had ended and now the large group of men encircled their small group, their eyes fixed upon Buffy and the Twins. Well, it was more accurate to say that their eyes seemed to be solely fixed on Buffy, some who had witnessed the slayer in action staring at her in utter amazement while others seemed torn between discretely looking away and gaping as the twins gently rubbed their hands over miles of smooth skin, carefully probing her abdomen for the broken ribs that caused her so much pain.

Feeling an odd flush burn his bruised cheeks, Legolas quickly pushed Elladan aside as he reached down and pulled Buffy to her feet, ignoring the twins' protests and the slayer's pained groan. Turning a fierce elven glare on the gathered men, he slipped out of his borrowed cloak and slid it over Buffy's shoulders before pulling it tight around her small frame.

"What's wrong?" Buffy asked in confusion, her eyes attempting to follow his own - and failing miserably when she caught sight of Thoron. Gaze narrowing, she barely restrained herself from flipping off the tall, stern-looking elf and settled instead on sticking her tongue out at him. Juvenile, perhaps, but she figured that being tortured by orcs excused her from any social gaffs for at least the next few days.

"Legolas, we must-"

"Our injuries will hold until we find a place more suited to see to them," Legolas cut in as he glared at Elladan, his tone clearly saying that it was the end of the discussion. For a moment, it looked as though the eldest twin was going to protest when Halbarad broke the tense silence by nodding his agreement.

"The lad is right," he stated, his dark eyes locking with the twins' before turning back towards the blond-haired elf. "Although surely we have time enough for a proper greeting amongst old friends. Well met, Legolas of Ithilien," he stated as he gripped the archer's arm in the customary greeting amongst warriors.

Smiling softly at the ranger, Legolas tipped his head in reply. "_Mae govannen_," he returned, his words a soft sigh as Halbarad beckoned one of the rangers forth, nodding as the younger man dropped a loose bundle before them.

"I believe that some of these may belong to you," he stated as he used his foot to reveal what the bundle contained.

"Oh, thank God," Buffy whispered as she immediately rescued her long, brown duster from amongst the pile. Smiling wanly, she abandoned the cloak for the more familiar leathers as she gingerly slid into the material that now seemed so much like a reminder of her home. Instinctively one hand fingered the inner lining, a relieved sigh escaping her lips as she heard the comforting crinkle of the precious picture that was still hidden within.

Turning, she then watched as Legolas found his own cloak amongst the pile before digging for his twin white-handled daggers. Carefully settling on her knees beside him, Buffy continued her own search amongst the small pile as she recalled his greeting to the elf beside her. "He does realize that you're most likely older than his great-grandfather's great-grandfather, right?" she murmured softly, her words intended solely for the elf that knelt beside her.

"Intellectually, of course," Legolas agreed as he found one knife, only to begin searching for the other. "Though most Men find such ideas difficult to understand. Also, you must remember that Halbarad and his Men are no ordinary Men."

"How so - aside from the distinct need of a bath, of course?" Buffy absently returned as she tossed aside random smelly and stained articles of clothing and weaponry, deciding that she didn't want to know who had once owned what and where those people were now most likely buried or abandoned.

"The Rangers of the North are long descended from the race of Elves and Men," Legolas stated, pausing long enough to watch as the Dnedain talked quietly with the twins, his eyes glancing over their proud features. "Actually," he continued, smiling coyly as he nodded to his elven friends, "they are the direct descendents of Elladan and Elrohir's uncle - a line that split long, long ago in the First Age. The Dnedain have been blessed with a longer lifespan than most Men. Halbarad, for example, has surely passed his first century."

Eyes growing wide at this statement, Buffy turned towards her rescuer with renewed interest. "He's looking pretty spry for an old guy," she noted before dismissing the matter out of hand. It wasn't as though she had never associated with people that looked far younger than they actually were. She supposed that dating a vampire that was over two hundred years old, or another that was certainly over one hundred, or befriending a vengeance demon who had been alive for more than seven hundred years tended to disillusion oneself to the wonder of it all.

Shrugging lightly, Buffy returned to her perusal, her smile brightening as she came across her final missing item. "My sword!" she crowed as she rescued the long, beautiful blade from the mess, still hanging in its finely crafted sheath. Humming happily to herself, for the moment pretending that she _wasn't_ grievously wounded, Buffy slowly clambered to her feet and began trying to strap the sword to her tender, welt-covered back.

Alerted by the young woman's triumphant cry and noting the many different arched eyebrows at this display, as well as more than a few snickers from the gathered Men, Elladan turned to his friend with a large smile. "Legolas, you have yet to introduce us to your... companion," he stated as he nodded towards the lady as she continued to fuss with the sword that he easily recognized as Rohirrim in design - the same sword, he would be willing to wager, which was responsible for much of the destruction back in the clearing.

Legolas handed his quiver to Thoron as he slid one of his bone-handled knives into the instep of his boot, understanding that in his condition, he was hardly capable of standing, let alone drawing arrow upon an enemy. Frowning at this silent acceptance of his weakness, he turned to acknowledge the other's request. "My apologies," he stated with a mock bow as he waved his arm graciously in Buffy's direction, the slayer never once lifting her eyes from the stubborn straps with which she wrestled. "May I present Lady-"

"It's just Buffy," she broke in, pausing long enough to shoot an annoyed glare in Legolas' direction.

"Of course," Legolas sighed, shaking his head slightly as he then turned to wave at the others. "Buffy, these are Lords Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell, the twin sons of Lord Elrond."

"Elladan and Elrohir will suffice," Elrohir cut in with a charming smile as he bowed gracefully to Buffy, a small, playful smirk causing the corners of his mouth to twitch.

"And I believe that you have already met Halbarad," Legolas continued as he turned towards Buffy's rescuer. "Halbarad brings with him the assistance of his kin, the Dnedain, otherwise known as the Rangers of the North."

"Yeah, we've met," Buffy confirmed as she rolled her eyes in the man's direction. "He was the one who was all lady-this and go-hide-in-the-trees-till-the-fun-is-over-that," she added as she continued to struggle with the strap to her sword's sheath. Nearly growling as her bloodied hands slipped along the smooth leather and as her weakened wrists began to betray her by trembling slightly, the slayer nearly threw down the sheath in frustration when Halbarad stepped forward, his eyes kind as he took the sheath from her.

"Please, allow me to-"

"Thanks, but I've got it," Buffy snapped as she pulled her weapon from the man's large hands - and then sighed wearily as the ranger recoiled from her sharp response. "Listen, it's not that I'm not grateful for the help, 'cause as I told Legolas a few hours ago, all about the grateful right now," she murmured, her voice growing soft as she nodded towards the older man. "But I gotta tell you that this damsel in distress crap has got to stop before I _really_ lose my temper," she added as she turned to allow all of the gathered Men and Elves to fall under her stern gaze. "Despite appearances, I am _not_ some little girl that needs to be rescued... well, not usually," she amended as she frowned down at her battered appearance. "I've been taking care of myself for seven years now, and I'm not about to stop when a group of well-meaning but overbearing Men and Elves decide to go all medieval on me. So just... just stop," she whispered as she once more began to quietly work with the slickened straps, her frustration only mounting at the fruitlessness of her efforts.

For a moment following her outburst, silence reigned as the Men turned to Halbarad for direction while the twins looked to Legolas and Thoron. Feeling the uncomfortable tension grow, the blond elf silently moved to Buffy's side and gently took the weapon from her hands, noting the frustrated tears that she was valiantly trying to suppress. Her watery green eyes swirled with so much pent-up emotion, from anger to grief, frustration, and most of all, a fervent longing that he could relate to all too well. Her heart begged to be delivered back into the familiar and comforting arms of her friends and family - to return her to her home - while his would forevermore beg to take his final voyage across the seas to where he ultimately belonged. Neither was a wish that would be granted in the immediate future - if at all.

Frowning, he stood before her for a full minute before he tentatively rested his hand upon her small shoulder. "Come. It is time we leave this place," he stated as he passed the sword to Elladan for safekeeping. "Those that were not killed will return, and I fear they will not come alone nor unprepared."

Nodding her weary acceptance, Buffy turned to follow Legolas when a large hand on the only non-bloody part of her arm stopped her before she even had a chance to move away. Sighing, Buffy tiredly lifted her eyes to find Halbarad staring down at her, his grizzled features creased in deep thought as he speculatively eyed her petite frame.

"How is that you... how did you..."

Understanding the man's hesitant question, Buffy turned to look at the dead orcs that littered the ground around them, her eyes easily picking out those who had taken a major role in her own personal torment. He was asking her to somehow explain something that his mind could not comprehend. He was asking her to explain herself - and that was one of the first things that her first watcher, Merrick, had warned her to never do. Even Giles, while being lenient with the Scoobies, had always adhered to the Secret Identity clause of being the Slayer. Her world wasn't equipped to deal with the kind of uglies that she fought night after night. But Merrick was dead... and now so was Giles. The Scoobies were gone. Her _world_ was gone.

She was alone.

She was alone in a world where the uglies were as much a part of this life as the sun and the moon, and after being tortured for the sheer enjoyment of another creature, Buffy found that at the moment, she couldn't really care less about being Secret Identity Girl. Not anymore.

"I'm not from around here," she stated as her gaze locked with Halbarad's eyes - eyes that were a strange, soft gray color that she had never really seen on a person before - man or otherwise. "I'm also the Slayer," she added as the man's hand fell away, his forehead creasing in confusion.

"And what is a Slayer?" he persisted as his rangers and the elves drew closer, their eyes filled with questions. Even Legolas, the elf who had heard the scattered bits and dropped hints of her past, looked curious as he silently stepped beside the tall ranger.

"The one girl in all the world to stand before the darkness and to save the light, blah blah blippity blah," she stated, lightly waving her hand to dismiss the rest of the usual speech that Giles had driven into her for years. Yet when the blank looks of confusion only continued, she once more sighed wearily as she pressed her hands against her aching head, trying to find new words to explain such an old tale.

"I'm a.... a warrior on my world," she offered, her smile fracturing and then turning into a deep scowl as these words earned her a few disbelieving stares from the Men. Practically growling now, Buffy angrily threw her arms in the air, ignoring the pain that flared in her injured body, as she glared at the large group of Men. "It _would_ figure that I'd land in a world that hasn't even heard of women's lib," she grumbled before angrily wrapping her bloodied arms around her hurting waist. "The long and short of it is the Powers That Be sent me here to set the balance right."

"The balance?" one of the elf twins asked as Buffy shifted impatiently.

"Yes, the balance," she confirmed as she nodded towards the dark-haired elf, her impatience growing as he waited for further elaboration. "You know, the balance between good and evil?" she continued, her words becoming strained. Didn't these people understand _anything_?

"And these powers that-"

"The Powers That Be," Buffy confirmed, cutting off the other twin with a scowl. "They're the all-knowing beings that like to play God."

"The Valar?" the other twin questioned, a finely sculpted brow arching slightly as he turned to his brother and friends for confirmation.

"Sure, the Valar," Buffy agreed, willing to say anything by this point just to end the conversation. While she was used to skepticism from people when she revealed her destiny to them for the first time, the 'I-think-you're-crazy' looks usually stemmed from the idea that demons and all abiding evil really did exist - not because it was she, a girl, that was chosen to fight it.

"And you're here because... our world is out of balance," the other twin continued, his lips twitching with concealed mirth as he turned dancing eyes towards the Rangers with whom they traveled.

Smiling openly, Halbarad shook his head as the rest of his men began to laugh, Buffy's face turning an interesting shade of red. "While I hate to be the bearer of ill news - my Lady," he stated, his eyes twinkling as her shoulders straightened at the intentional use of the title that she obviously hated, "I am afraid that your Powers have sent you nine years too late. The War of the Rings is over and Sauron has been defeated. Our world is at peace now - a peace that this world hasn't seen in thousands of years."

"Yeah, or maybe I just arrived at the party a bit early and the Big Bad has yet to make its appearance!" Buffy argued back as she glared at the laughing men, even as she understood that most of her anger stemmed from the fact that Halbarad had just spoken her silent fears aloud.

"Or perhaps our world has become _too_ peaceful," one of the other rangers remarked as he nudged the man beside him, "and the Valar have sent you to offset the scales in the other direction. Maybe _you_ bring the great evil."

"And maybe you can kiss my-"

"Come now, we are all friends here," Elladan broke in as he rested a gentle hand upon the young woman's shoulder and turned his narrowed eyes upon the gathered Men. While he and his twin had admittedly begun the teasing, there was such a thing as taking a joke too far, and it didn't take an elf to feel the anger that radiated from the young woman's tensed body. "Let us say we take leave of this place of death and find a lighter path to lead us back to our friends in Rhosgobel - and a safer place in which my brother and I may finally see to your wounds," he added as he looked pointedly from Legolas to Buffy, expecting the usual arguments and assurances that all was well - and frowned when he received neither.

Gaze following that of his twin, Elrohir noted the way that Thoron subtly eased his arm around Legolas' waist, the blond elf's skin glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light as his eyes closed tiredly in a face that was far too pale. "Master Thoron, as we seem to be two horses short, would Rodwen be willing to bear both you and Legolas?" he asked, carefully schooling his features into an impassive mask that betrayed none of his worry for the blond archer that perked up at his words. He knew that a scene would be impending if Legolas thought that he had implied that the prince was unfit to ride alone - even if he _was_ unfit to do so in his current condition.

Yet Elrohir needn't have feared, for instead of insisting that he was well, Legolas instead turned to his father's advisor, his blue eyes shadowed with pain and worry. "You have not found Sador? And what of Mirdan? Is he alright? And where is Andrann?" he questioned, his heart torn between anger that he had not asked of his friend sooner, and worry over the fate of his beloved horse.

"Mirdan is safe and Andrann was injured in the attack. I would not have her bear even the weight of an elf until her wound has been seen to," Thoron replied, smoothly avoiding mention of Sador as he began leading his prince into the relative safety that the trees afforded, his dark eyes piercing the gloomy shadows in search of the two elven steeds that would be waiting.

"And you, my... Buffy," Elladan continued for his brother as he turned to the young woman, quickly altering his words as her eyes began to narrow. "You may ride with..." he began, his words faltering as he turned towards the gathered Rangers. Seeing as she was one of the _Edain_, it seemed only proper that she ride with one of the Rangers, but after the anger that simmered from the fiery young woman towards the gathered Dnedain, he quickly saw the folly in such a request. "You may ride with me," he finished, smiling brightly as he gently slid one arm around her back and began guiding her towards the trees, supporting her slight weight beneath the guise of directing her through the darkness.

As a testament to her pain, weariness, and overall crappy feeling, Buffy offered no protest as she allowed the elf to guide her into the woods, his brother stepping to her other side as his eyes carefully watched her every stumble. "As long as you add water to the mix, and maybe some of that bread you guys like so much, you got yourself a deal," she muttered as she allowed more of her weight to rest against the tall elf.

For the first time in nearly thirty-six hours, Buffy finally felt the tension begin to ease from her weary limbs. The orcs were dead, she was unencumbered by chain or restraint, and she was finally in safe, if not tediously male, chauvinistic company. Things were finally starting to look up....

....So why did that feeling of impending doom continue to whisper its soft warnings to her beleaguered mind?

* * *

Breath wheezing between cracked, parted lips, the creature writhed against the cold stone floor as the liquid fire consumed his black body and soul. It was agony beyond anything the Former Master could have inflicted as muscles grew taut and tendons ripped and snapped, skin becoming like liquid putty as it stretched around limbs that grew long and lean - perfect. And yet that agony of pain and regrowth paled when compared to the incomprehensible feeling of when the tainted blood reached his mind and brain tissue began to fold over one another, synopses firing that had never before seen use. A voice, guttural and like long nails over a metal frame, cried out to its former dark master, begging for release... until even that voice began to change - to lighten - as vocal cords grew long and narrow.

Drawn by the orc's cries, those that had not been slain by the Men followed the sounds to their brethren's side, not out of pity nor compassion, for they had none. Rather, they followed the cries as though creatures compelled to do so and lay witness to that which they were not equipped to understand.

Over the span of hours unnumbered, the changes swept through and over the orc known as Vashnak - and then the orc known as Vashnak was no more as a new creature - a new breed of evil - was born.


	13. Chapter 13

**Equinoxium: Chapter 13  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Additional credit must be given to Ludacris for "What's Your Fantasy" and to Ray Evans for the lyrics to Mr. Ed's Theme song.

* * *

Green eyes looked past the glass and into the bright afternoon beyond. Buffy sighed heavily as her fingers absently toyed with the edges of the thick bandages that bound her ribs beneath the oversized shirt that she wore. Five days had come and gone since she and Legolas had been rescued by the Rangers and their elven companions - five days since the dark night that continued to haunt her dreams. They had traveled hard that early morning, putting as much distance between themselves and the bloodied clearing as was possible when transporting two who were so wounded. They probably would have gotten much further, too, if she hadn't done the unthinkable and passed out when the pain of her jostled ribs became too great.

Snorting at the memory, Buffy forced her hands to fall to her sides as her gaze swept over the crowded street below. One moment she had been contemplating vomiting the _lembas_ that she had eaten all over the horse's pretty black mane, and the next thing she knew she was laid out on the hard ground, the sun shining in her eyes as warm, incredibly gentle hands cleaned and bound the deep lacerations on her damaged wrists that continued to bleed freely. Confused, she had squinted against the bright light, slowly lifting the hand that had already been seen too and shading her eyes to see one of the twins kneeling beside her while his brother saw to Legolas' injuries.

After that the going had been a little slower and less painful, and the hours passed in a blur before the group had finally stopped to make camp for the night. That, of course, brought up the next problem as Buffy was about to have a sleepover with four elves and around thirty guys - some old enough to be her father. Despite this fact and the disturbing sight of the purplish-green bruising that now covered most of her visible skin, not to mention the more than gentlemanly if not overly protective nature of the Men, Legolas was still wary enough that he all but insisted that she lay Mirdan's borrowed bed roll, having been retrieved from the clearing by the rangers the night before, in between his and Elrohir's - a thought that still caused her lips to twitch between a smile and an irritated frown.

By late afternoon of the next day, the weary group finally arrived in the bustling metropolis of Rhosgobel as Buffy was introduced to Middle-earth's version of a settlement of Men - the sight of which originally made her wish for unconsciousness. That had been three days ago, and upon further contemplation, the slayer was able to look past the dirt path that they called a street, past the rough-hewn buildings that they called homes, and past the small, dark buildings that they called stores, in order to see the quaint and quiet appeal of the small town... if you were a blind Pilgrim with no sense of smell.

Buffy wearily pressed one hand against her forehead as she watched a small child play with what looked to be a goat in a paddock beside the two-story building that the elves assured her was an inn. A goat. The kid was playing with a goat as though it was a Dalmatian.

Groaning, she turned away from the dirty glass as her gaze swept over her small room. The floors were long wooden planks that creaked beneath her bare feet, the walls made of stone, and a small table with a rickety chair stood in the corner, a cracked ceramic basin and a few half-melted candles resting on the scarred wood. Oh - and she couldn't forget the chamber pot that was currently hidden beneath the raised plank that Halbarad assured her was a bed, the pock-marked wood covered with a scratchy straw mat.

A chamber pot, for God's sake.

"I've been sent back to the Dark Ages," Buffy whispered, not for the first time as she moved towards the bed, trying her best not to trip over the leggings that were about eight sizes too long, and sunk onto the thin mattress. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to figure out what in the hell a chamber pot was, and when she did, that embarrassment was matched only by her disgust.

_"You expect me to... in there?" she demanded, her eyes flashing from the young girl to the innocent-looking chipped bowl that sat against one square wall._

_"Of course, Lady. Where else would you... you know," the maid stammered, a dark blush staining her pretty cheeks._

_"God, haven't you people heard of indoor plumbing? Even an outhouse would be better than this!"_

_"Dressed as you are?" the maid returned, sounding scandalized at the thought._

_"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Buffy returned as she picked at the clothes that Legolas had been nice enough to lend her._

_Frowning, the maid pulled her eyes away as she bustled about the small room, pulling at a blanket here, straightening the chair there." The Mistress has taken your... your garments," she stammered as she thought back to the lady's strange clothing, "to see to the stains, and since you refused the dressing gown-"_

_"I don't wear dressing gowns," Buffy growled, breaking in on the girl's stuttered words._

_"Yes, well the Elves have agreed with the Mistress that it would be best if you remained here until you were... you were... _properly_ clothed," she stammered, forcing the words past thin, tight lips as she made it quite clear that Buffy's normal outfit was anything but proper garments for a lady, no matter how odd her manner of speech nor mannerisms._

"Proper clothes my ass," Buffy grumbled as she pushed the memory aside, slowly falling back on the hard mattress as her eyes traced the familiar lines of the wooden beams above. After being trapped in this small room for three days now, with only Legolas, the twins, and the occasional serving girl for company, the slayer was beyond restless.

It really wasn't fair. The twins insisted that she needed to stay in bed to recuperate from her wounds, and yet Legolas had been up and about for a couple of days now - and she even saw Mirdan seeing to Rodwen outside her window earlier that morning. It wasn't as though she was really injured anymore. Sure, her mended ribs would twinge every now and again, but the bruising was all but faded, and the many lacerations and deep wounds had all closed with only the faintest scar to mark her skin. She was a Slayer, _the_ Slayer, and the term 'bed rest' just wasn't in her vocabulary.

Startled by the soft rapping at her wooden door, Buffy was on her feet and opening it in seconds. Lips lifting in a large smile, she beamed at the tall, blond-haired elf that stood, fist still raised to knock as she grabbed his arm and dragged him across the threshold and into the sparsely-decorated room. "Legolas! What brings you to my prison this fine afternoon?" she chirped as she finally released the elf to plop casually back upon her bed, the blankets in their usual state of disarray.

Arching a slim brow at the small blonde, the lean elf slowly crossed his arms across his chest as he eyed her speculatively. "Does your rather... _exuberant_ mood indicate that you no longer hold me in such contempt?"

Rolling her eyes, Buffy leaned back upon her elbows as she smiled cheekily at her visitor. "I never realized how British you Elves were. Can't you ever just come out and say something instead of doing the verbal runaround? See, repeat after me: Does - this - mean - you're - not - angry? See how easy that is? And did you note the use of 'you're'?" she prodded, her eyes twinkling. "You see, 'you're' is what we normal people call a contraction. In this case, 'you're' actually stands for 'you are.' Other such contractions are don't, wasn't, can't, we're, blah, blah, blah."

Sniffing haughtily, Legolas turned his back on the small slayer as he looked through her window and to the street beyond. "The Eldar were the first to use speech here in Middle-earth, and it is through my kind that language was born."

"So... elves are like the Middle-earth equivalent of the ape," Buffy stated, a slow smile lifting her lips as she shifted on the bed.

"What is an ape?"

"Never mind," Buffy sighed as she rolled her eyes. "And as for your earlier question, no, I'm no longer angry with you. Actually, I was less angry with you than this stupid room," she muttered as she jerked her head at the cramped enclosure. "Slayers weren't built for captivity."

"I know," Legolas returned, his voice solemn as he turned away from the window, his eyes tracing the faint white lines that were all that remained of the deep wounds that had encircled Buffy's neck - and soon even those thin lines would be naught but a memory. "Neither were elves," he added, his hand absently resting on his suede tunic, directly over the smooth flesh that was once marred by charred, gruesome burns, his eyes growing unfocused as the sounds of his own pained screams echoed hollowly in his mind.

Gaze softening in quiet understanding, Buffy slipped from the bed and moved soundlessly across the wooden floor until she was standing before the tall elf, the top of her head only coming to his chest. "Hey, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger, right?" she whispered as Legolas' eyes focused and as the full weight of his elven stare fell upon her. Shifting slightly beneath the unfathomable depths, Buffy refused to look away as she smiled coyly. "You're free now, and if you value that immortal life of yours, then you'll tell me that the reason for this little visit is to do me the same courtesy."

Laughing softly, Legolas felt his heavy thoughts fade beneath Buffy's bright smile as he tilted his head to the side, his long hair trailing over slender shoulders. "I am afraid that such a decision is no longer in my hands, " he stated as he slowly backed, Buffy's eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "As your healers, Elladan and Elrohir have claimed full responsibility for your care, and have vowed that you shall not step foot from this room until they deem you fit to do so."

"Oh yeah? We'll see about that," Buffy grumbled as she turned and stalked towards the door, her small fingers viciously twisting the knob and pulling the door open - and froze at the sight of the impossibly tall and slender pair of elves that stood before her, large smiles plastered across their beautiful faces.

"Ah, Buffy - just the patient we were hoping to-"

"-torment for your own sick amusement," Buffy finished as she turned away from her only route of escape with a resigned sigh. Slowly shuffling back to the bench that posed rather badly as a bed, she slouched upon the hard surface and dutifully lifted the hem of the large shirt so that the bulky white bandages were revealed, turning her head to the side with a soft sigh.

Surprised at their patient's sudden compliance, Elladan and Elrohir turned to Legolas in confusion before the elder twin broke from his brother's side and knelt beside the young woman, his hands quickly working to loosen the knots that held the bandages in place.

Shrugging his shoulders in response, Legolas leaned against the far wall as his attention turned to Elrohir, his mind immediately returning to the conversation that had been interrupted earlier that morning. "As I was saying earlier, I still find myself puzzled over their actions during that night - aside from the torture, of course," he added nonchalantly as Buffy turned towards them, her attention piqued. "While I do not claim to be an expert on orc behavior, I believe they acted strangely... almost as if their amusements with us were merely a passing interest before they abandoned their holes in the mountains."

"The orcs are leaving the lands to the west of the Misty Mountains as well," Elrohir sighed, his expression growing troubled as he settled lightly on the edge of the worn table, "and we know naught of their reasons. In the years since Sauron's defeat, their kind has become scattered throughout Middle-earth, hidden in their holes and dying out as surely as I stand before you. But now?" he murmured, his voice becoming soft. "Now their behavior points towards ill deeds and speak of dark tidings."

"We have been following them for many months now, over the mountains and into these lands that we rarely visit," Elladan added, his eyes never straying from the bandages that he gently unwrapped from around Buffy's small waist." However, we lost the trail when the orcs crossed the Anduin."

"We were trying to determine our next course of action," Elrohir continued, "whether to return west of the Misty Mountains or continue south into Rohan, when Thoron came upon us."

Frowning, Legolas turned to stare into the bright afternoon sunshine, his eyes shadowed as he thought back to the long hours that he had spent within the orcs' company. "Those that captured us did not originally hail from the Mountains of Mirkwood," he murmured, certain of this fact as he thought back to all that he had witnessed upon first being thrust into the dark caves. "It was as though they were all coming together."

"The orcs are organizing?" the younger twin demanded, his proud lips twisting in a small grimace. "Now _that_ is a troubling thought."

"Yes, but where could they all be heading?" Legolas murmured, his features creasing as he turned back to his friends. "Where could-"

"How can this be?" Shaking his head slowly, voice filled with wonder, Elladan pulled away the last of the wrappings as one hand gently traced the unmarked skin found beneath.

"Hey, watch the cold hands!" Buffy ordered as she instinctively shied away from the cool touch.

"But this is impossible," the elder twin continued as Elrohir knelt beside him, another pair of cold hands gently fingering the lines of her newly mended ribs.

"Estel once broke a rib when he fell from a tree when he was but a child," Elrohir murmured, ignoring Buffy's squealed complaints as he firmly pressed against the ribs that had been badly broken only days before. "He was bed-ridden for a week, and despite Father's close attentions, it took much time for the bone to completely heal."

"One of the perks of being the Slayer is a speedier rehab for the bumps, bruises, and severed limbs that are pretty much unavoidable in my line or work," Buffy returned as she swatted the prying hands away and firmly pulled her shirt down, her eyes daring the elves to try and continue their fascinated perusal of her rib cage. "And to think you guys would have caught on when all of this went away," she added as she pulled down the wide collar of her oversized shirt, showing the unmarked skin that had once been covered in lash marks. Grinning smugly, the slayer pushed past the twins and made a show of readjusting the baggy material.

"Does this mean that she is ready to travel?" Legolas asked as he turned to the baffled twins, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

"I've _been_ ready for three days now," Buffy grumbled before either twin could offer their opinions, her eyes once more snapping to the blond elf by the window, "as I've been telling you ever since. But no, Buffy's a human and therefore incompetent to judge what hurts and when it stops."

Completely ignoring the petite woman's tirade, Elladan slowly reclaimed his feet as he turned his gray eyes to his brother in a silent conversation that took only seconds. Nodding gravely at Elrohir's unasked question, the elder twin then turned towards their young friend, his hands folded before him. "And where will you continue from here?"

Shrugging lightly, Legolas nodded towards the world outside the dirty glass, his eyes looking past the borders of the small town. "We had planned on journeying south," he admitted with a small frown. "Thoron and Mirdan are ready to return to Ithilien, and I had planned on traveling on to Minas Tirith to visit with Aragorn for a time. An idea that seems even more imperative now, what with all that we have seen and the news of orc movement."

"Just the answer that we had been hoping for," Elrohir announced as he nodded towards his twin. "We would like to join your party, if you would have us."

"It has been too long since we last visited Arwen and Estel," Elladan added with a guilty shrug. "Besides," he continued, his lips quirking in a small smile, "this party seems determined to find trouble where it may and destined for further injury. You will need the skilled hands of a healer-"

"-or two," Elrohir added as he clapped Legolas on the back, his smile matching that of his brother.

"We would be honored to have you," Legolas returned as he clasped arms with his friend.

"On the condition that you leave your Rescue Rangers at home," Buffy added, her glower deepening at the thought of the Men that made up the other party. While some of them didn't seem too bad, Halbarad in particular, it was their obstinate refusal to see her as anything other than a fragile maiden that caused her blood to boil. If she was forced to continue traveling with them for however long it took to reach the Mini-Tear place, heads would roll in no time.

Smiling openly, Legolas shared an amused look with the twins. If Buffy had thought that the Rangers of the North were difficult to get along with, he was interested to see what she thought of their southern kin. The Men of Gondor were known for their grim nature - a side effect of having lived so long beside the creeping darkness of Mordor. "Then it is settled," he stated as he nodded at the brothers. "We shall depart at sunrise tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is," Elladan confirmed as he gathered the used bandages in his arms. "And if such is the case, we must take our leave as there is much that should be accomplished before that time."

"I have already sent Thoron and Mirdan in search of supplies for our travels," Legolas offered as he turned and started towards the door, the twins nodding once to Buffy before following his lead. "He also speaks with your men," he continued, his words directed towards the elves that accompanied him as he softly closed the door behind him.

Scowling at once more being shut in her room, Buffy started towards the door - only to trip on the cuff of one extremely _long_ pant leg that had become unrolled sometime during the elves' visit. Cursing beneath her breath, she regained her balance with a minimal of stumbling and glared at her overlarge clothing and painfully bare feet. "Will someone just find my freaking clothes?"

* * *

Long fingers explored new territory as they glided over smooth, clear skin, dark eyes locked upon an unfamiliar face through the rippling waters of the small, dirty puddle. A stranger met his serious gaze - a stranger with a face that was both frightening and at once glorious. A face that contained eyes that narrowed when he narrowed his own eyes, lips that would stretch into a fierce grimace when he grimaced, and a nose that would tremble as he sniffed the dank cavern air.

Everything was different.

Everything was strange.

The very darkness around him seemed deeper. The wet, heavy air of the cavern smelled more delightfully sour. The voices of his kin amongst the rock sounded clearer. And touch... never before had the sense of touch held such promise - such pleasure. It was as though an unseen barrier had been removed from around him - as though a thin veil of fog had been lifted which allowed everything around him to seem more real. It was as though he had finally become everything that he was always meant to be.

"It is a gift from the Master himself."

As the stranger's lips twisted in a dark frown, the creature known as Vashnak finally turned from his muddied reflection to look down upon the orc that addressed him. Once this dark, bent beast had been his captain - his leader. Now Gundug was no more than a distant memory - a creature that shared his dark heart and yet bowed beneath Vashnak's awakened senses and thoughts.

With a derisive snort, Vashnak curtly shook his head as he turned back to the small, scavenged pile of spoils that had been brought before him. "A gift, that much is certain," he stated, his voice all at once beautiful and horrible to listen to as the Black Speech slipped from his tongue. "But I am not so certain that Sauron is the creature to thank," he murmured as he found a creased, stained tunic that had been taken from some nameless man during one of the troops' many raids.

Stiffening at the implied slight to their fallen Dark Lord, the orc captain bit back his angry rebuke as he instead bowed his head reverently towards the tall being that pulled the tattered clothes from his shadowed body. The Dark Lord Sauron was gone - defeated by a mere Halfling - and after what he and the others had witnessed, there was no doubt in his feeble mind as to who they now owed their allegiance. Especially if Vashnak held to his part of the bargain. "What now?" Gundug asked as the creature began to dress in clothes that were far different from his orc raiment.

"Continue south with the others," Vashnak ordered as he fumbled with the strange fastenings to the large garment. "I... have some other business to attend to," he stated, pausing as his eyes drifted towards the distant entrance to the large network of caves that ran through the Mountains of Mirkwood, his thoughts far away from the dank ancestral dwelling of his kin. "Continue south and I will meet with you and the others in six days time at the fortress of Dol Guldur. And Gundug - do not be late."

* * *

Wincing as slender fingers worked their way through the tangles of her long, wet hair, Buffy lounged against a large boulder as the sun's weak rays bathed her with their warmth. Two days and countless miles of scattered trees and a long, green valley separated their small group from the village of Rhosgobel, and despite the substitution of the hard ground for the rather weak attempt of a bed back at the inn, Buffy found herself grateful to be back on the road. In the wilderness there were no chamber pots nor small rooms that could contain her for days on end. In the wilderness, she was finally free... not to mention that they now followed the banks of the River Anduin, which meant that in the wilderness, Buffy got to bathe every night as the others set camp. That fact alone more than made up for the hard ground and the many hours spent on the large, dark gray horse that Legolas had purchased from the Rangers - even if the water was so cold that she was numb within seconds of stepping into the swiftly running waters, especially now that it merged with the River Gladden from the Misty Mountains - or the Happy River, as she had quickly dubbed it. Now if she could only get her hands on some kind of soap...

"Ai! Elladan, watch yourself! That was my foot that you almost clobbered, and as I only have two of them, I hardly have one to spare!"

Snorting softly, Buffy watched as Elrohir glared from his twin to the stack of dead wood that was lying haphazardly at his feet. While Thoron seemed to find the twins' constant bickering irritating, the slayer couldn't help the smile that never seemed far behind where the two elves were concerned. In their own way, they reminded her of Xander - only doubled and far wittier than her goofy friend could ever be. Yet at the same time, they were capable of such seriousness that she instead found herself reminded more of Giles or even Angel - although they were never quite broody enough to be very reminiscent of the vampire. Still, it was their tendency to switch back and forth from such a lighthearted nature to the more serious side that always managed to throw her. She imagined that it had something to do with them being Elves and the fact that her mortal mind just wasn't equipped to deal with such... with such _flighty_ creatures. Nonetheless, she couldn't help but be enchanted by four of the fives creatures with whom she traveled. As for the last of the elves... well, she had to admit that she found the horses more intriguing than Thoron. Or maybe that was just the grudge of being abandoned in the midst of battle that was still talking.

"You are correct, my brother. Perhaps I should have dropped them on your head, for you shall have never missed that."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy reached for her long jacket and drew it into her lap, her fingers instinctively lingering over the many cuts and tears that decorated the heavy fabric. It was amazing, really, that the small breaks in the leather were the only lasting damage of her time with the orcs. Her cuts, bruises, and broken bones were completely healed now, without even the faintest scar to mark where the grisly wounds had once marred flesh and drawn blood. That alone was enough to puzzle her if she allowed herself to think long on the matter. Before her 'resurrection' by Willow, while she may have healed faster than her friends, she was still able to scar as easily as any of them. In fact, from fang marks to stab wounds by her own stakes, she had scars enough to prove her own body's fallibility. But in the time since she had been brought back to life, her healing abilities, already impressive by normal human standards, had been heightened and it seemed as though no wound left a tell-tale mark. It was almost... frightening, and yet another reminder that for some reason, she wasn't quite the same person that she had been _before_ her swan dive from that tower almost two years ago.

Buffy turned her mind from such thoughts with a frown as she looked upon the long, leather duster that she cradled in her lap. Thanks to the women of Rhosgobel, even the crimson stains were gone from the brown leather - or maybe when Whistler had created the outfit for her, he had added a special Balance Demon charm to the material that made it stain-proof. If that was the case, the least that the short demon could have done was make it knife-proof as well. She liked to pride herself on her unusually high tolerance of pain - most likely a direct result of how much pain her Slayer-enhanced body had endured over the past seven years - yet even her body had been on the verge of calling it quits after enduring so many hours of being the orcs' pincushion and play toy. Her body certainly would have appreciated such a charm.

"Why have you not repaired it?"

Startled from her thoughts, Buffy met Mirdan's inquisitive brown eyes from where he knelt beside his saddle bag, the slayer confusedly attributing his words to the beating that her body had taken just a few short days ago. Then, with a pointed nod towards the jacket that she still cradled in her lap, Buffy finally understood the elf's question as she sighed heavily, once more fingering the several different cuts and tears in the thick leather. "Because I have yet to find Middle-earth's equivalent of a seamstress," she returned as she traced one particularly long cut that marred the soft brown.

"You do not sew?" the elf returned, his fine brows arched in confusion as he quizzically tilted his head to the side in that infuriatingly bird-like manner.

"I was born in 1980 - not 1880," Buffy retorted as she tossed the jacket beside her with a frustrated sigh. Yet when Mirdan patiently waited for clarification, she curtly shook her head. "No, I don't," she stated, her tone flat - and then paused as a new thought occurred to her. "Do you know how to fix it?" she asked, beginning to understand what it must mean to live in their world. It wasn't as though these people could just run to the mall for a new cloak, tunic, or leggings when theirs got ruined. Common sense would indicate that they not only knew how to care for their clothes, but that they most likely carried the implements to do so.

"Of course," Mirdan returned as he rifled through his neatly packed saddlebag before holding up the Middle-earth and Elvish equivalent to a needle and thread. Without another word, he then sidestepped the location that the twins had finally agreed upon for that night's fire, and settled beside the young woman, his long legs crossed before him. Accepting the strange coat, he then examined the heavy material, his long, skilled fingers toying with the fabric before he began to thread the needle and proceeded to teach her how to mend the damaged coat.

Grunting occasionally at the elf's detailed instructions, Buffy feigned interest for all of about two minutes before Legolas' return to camp provided her with a much desired distraction. Smiling, she nodded towards the blond-haired elf - and then grimaced as she noticed the rather large bird and the two rabbits that he carried casually in one hand. Feeling her stomach muscles knot, Buffy quickly turned her gaze from the dead animals, trying and failing to tell her mind that no, those two adorable little bunnies really didn't look _that_ much like Thumper.

The same had happened when the twins had tried to take her hunting the other night. Intellectually she understood that if she wanted to eat anything aside from _lembas_, nuts, dried fruits, and meat, this was the only way to get it. Nonetheless, she and the others had learned rather quickly that she and hunting just didn't mix. Give her a leering orc any day and they were as good as dead, but an adorable deer that could have passed for Bambi? Nope - pretty much anything of the non-evil variety was safe from her borrowed arrows.

"So here's what I don't understand," Buffy stated, forcing her eyes away from the rock that Legolas now began to clean the animals upon. "Your ancestors and... well, some of you guys in particular," she continued as she waved airily at the gathered elves, "have been around for thousands upon thousands of years. You guys were the ones who came up with the origins of this neat little thing called English-"

"Westron," Mirdan and Legolas automatically corrected as the twins watched in amusement.

"Whatever. And yet no one's come up with electricity yet? Or indoor plumbing?" she continued as she crossed her arms across her chest. "How is that possible?" she demanded as she looked to each elf in turn. "Don't you have any Ben Franklins or Thomas Jeffersons in Middle-earth?"

Amused, Legolas continued to work with the tough, sinewy meat on the small hares as he hazarded a glance in the small blonde's direction. "And what are these things of which you speak?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Buffy's enthusiasm deflated as she settled her back against the large rock and ignored Mirdan's quiet snickers from beside her. "The best darn discovery and invention that man ever made - and something that I took for granted," she stated as her eyes drifted to the flickering flames of the newly started fire.

"How do they work?" Mirdan persisted as he finished working the leather around one tear and moved onto the next, his stitches so fine that the narrow line was nearly invisible to the naked eye.

"Well, they..." Buffy began, only to have her words falter as she frowned in confusion. "You know, that's a good question," she murmured, her green eyes narrowing in thought as she shrugged lightly. "I never really thought past the whole flipping the switch and on comes the light, or push the lever and flush goes the toilet. I mean, I guess that someone back home understands how it all works - the mechanics of it - but for the most part... I guess the details are just something that we all overlook.

"Things are much simpler here," she continued as she waved towards where Legolas continued to skin the hares that he had caught. "And much more complicated all at the same time. Here, if you want meat for dinner, you go and catch it. In my world, as long as we could still pick up the hamburger from the grocery store, we never thought about the in-between process of getting the cow into the neat little plastic package," she explained as she held her hands in the brief semblance of the familiar squares of ground meat that she was really coming to miss. Actually, once a girl got past the really large things that were missing in Middle-earth, such as other modes of transportation outside of horses, or even modern conveniences like hundreds of hotels that line the highways, a McDonalds or Starbucks on every corner, and the use of electricity to light the way - the small things started to get noticed. In the end, those were the ones that Buffy found herself missing the most: a soft bed, paved and level roads and sidewalks, radios, television - hell, even the constant drone of freeway traffic... the crash of the waves upon the shore, her morning jolt of caffeine to get her through the day, a washing machine, a spare change of clothes, pajamas, mirrors, hairbrushes, shampoo and conditioner, deodorant, makeup - even towels. There was so much to miss that at times she felt overwhelmed by how different this world was... and by how very much she had lost when she had been banished from all that she knew. Then again, small creature comforts continued to have nothing on the very real pain that was a constant companion to her hurting soul - the pain of the people that she had lost. Buffy didn't survive seven years as a slayer - or even die and come back again two different times - just for coffee and Chicken McNuggets. It was always her friends and family that brought her back and kept her going. "I guess-" she began, her tired sigh catching in her throat as she felt her muscles stiffen, a conditioned response to the soft whisperings that she felt in the back of her mind.

Looking up as Buffy's words trailed into silence, Legolas felt his own body begin to tighten as he instinctively lifted a hand for silence, his ears straining towards the soft song of the scattered trees that guarded their small encampment. Yet after a moment of tensed silence, the blond archer found his muscles beginning to relax as he turned questioning eyes to the small slayer. "What is it?" he asked, ignoring the twins' puzzled looks.

Frowning, Buffy forced her body to relax as she pulled her eyes from the deepening shadows. "It felt like someone was watching us. Like there were eyes-" she began, her words faltering as Thoron stepped into the light of their small fire, oblivious to Buffy's discomfort.

"The horses have chosen to once more wander this night," he stated as he bent to retrieve his small saddlebag and rolled blankets from beside a nearby tree.

"Rodwen and Andrann grieve still for Sador," Legolas murmured, his words a soft sigh as he turned his eyes back to the game that he had killed for that night's meal. What went unspoken was the burning grief that continued to weigh upon his own heart. Sador had been gifted to him by omer after Arod's death, given when Sador was naught but a beautiful young colt, taken to Ithilien to be reared amongst elvenkind. Five years they had spent together, traveling the wilds and making the frequent journey to Minas Tirith - five years that were supposed to be nothing but a heartbeat to his kind - and yet five years that had formed a strong bond between horse and master. Now he had no choice but to move on, his path now bound with Drlum, or Darkshade, as the Rangers had called the stallion, his coat so dark of color that it was nearly black - even if Legolas' heart would never forget the loyalty of the white mare that had carried him for so many years.

Green eyes glancing out in the dark shadows of the coming night, Buffy frowned for a moment more before shrugging away the queer whisperings that tickled the back of her mind. "As I was saying," she stated, forcing her eyes to slide back to the gathered elves, "I guess that I won't be the one to bring the modern marvels of man to Middle-earth."

"Thank the Valar," Thoron muttered beneath his breath, fully aware that not even Buffy would have missed his words as he settled lightly before the small fire.

Laughing lightly as Buffy scowled at the dark-haired elf, Elrohir clapped Thoron on the back before settling beside Legolas, pulling his knife from his sheath to help the prince with their evening meal. "Elladan and I have been talking-"

"You consider that talking?" Mirdan questioned as he arched a fine brow at the pair before returning his attention to Buffy's jacket.

"-and have decided," he smoothly continued, "that we should like to hear a song from Buffy's world."

"A song?" Buffy stammered, the feeling of being watched drowned beneath an all-consuming panic as she turned wide eyes towards the expectant elves. Sometimes it seemed as though her companions knew of only one thing to do in order to pass the many hours upon horseback, and that was to sing, and sing, and then sing some more. Not that Buffy truly minded, for it seemed as though all elves were gifted with clear, flawless voices that were just made for singing. Rather, it was the subjects and the melodies that really demonstrated the differences between her world and theirs. Their songs in English were usually about nature - trees in particular - or legends and tales of the brave deeds of those either long-dead, or those that should probably be long-dead. One time they even sang a song that they claimed was created by a hobbit that they all knew, one about the wonders of hot baths, no less. As for the songs that were sung in their own crazy language - well, that was anyone's guess, but she was pretty sure that they weren't the kind of songs that were found back in Sunnydale.

"Yes, a song," Elladan agreed with a small smile. "Any will do," he added as Buffy's look of panic only increased. "You.. you do have songs where you come from, do you not?" he asked, his smile beginning to slip as he tried to imagine a world without music.

"Of course they do," Mirdan assured as he finished putting in the final stitch, his lips stretching into a large, teasing smile as he nodded at the petite woman who continued to sit beside him. "Why just last night I heard Buffy singing the most interesting song as she was bathing in the riv-"

"Hey!" Buffy broke in, her face flushing a deep red as she lightly smacked the elf beside her. "What did I tell you about me and my alone time in the river?" she demanded as she crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing into green slits. "Off-limits, no elves allowed!" she reiterated as the twins began to laugh, their clear voices ringing on the cool night breeze.

"Now come, dear Buffy," Elrohir called out, his eyes dancing as he beckoned the young woman closer to the fire. "Surely if you can bless the swiftly running waters of the Anduin with your sweet voice, our ears shall be all the more more inviting."

"Sweet voice?" Buffy parroted, her face beginning to grow warm. Even though she may have serenaded her friends and quite a few vampires the year before when that damn singing demon tried to make Dawn - or Xander, if you were getting technical - his new unholy bride, that didn't mean that she was at all confident in giving free shows. It was hard to feel self-conscious of how bad your voice wavered when the people you were singing to responded back in their own booming bass or lilting soprano. Besides, at the time, she could honestly say that she didn't exactly have the worst voice of the Scoobies, and not to be unkind, but all she had to do was listen to Willow do a verse or two and suddenly she felt like a rock star. But sing now? In front of a group of elves that were perfection defined in every damn aspect of their being - aside from Thoron, of course. It was unthinkable. It was-

"Do not force us to beg," Elladan persisted as he arched a fine brow at the blushing girl. "Just a simple tune will suffice."

"Simple tune. A simple tune," Buffy repeated frantically to herself as her mind went horribly blank. As all eyes turned expectantly towards her, Buffy found herself unable to remember the melody to the most basic of songs. How did 'I'm A Little Teapot?' go, anyway? To make matters worse, she had spent the past few months living in a house that was far too small for the many different teenagers that spilled from the rooms and into the hallways. Every hour of every day had been filled with bickering girls and the loud, blaring music of one Top 40s station or another. It had been annoying at the time, but now... now it was catastrophic as the very first melody that popped into her mind was one that she began to sing before she processed what she was doing.

"I wanna li-li-lick you from your head to your toes. I wanna... _move_ from the bed down to the.... uh... never mind," Buffy stammered, her face now positively burning as her mind finally caught up with her mouth, her jaw snapping shut so quickly that the sound of her teeth rebounding off of one another echoed in the silent clearing. "Oh God," Buffy moaned as she dropped her head into her hands, trying to block the sight of the twins' incredulous faces, the reproving look in Thoron's eyes, the faint blush that colored Mirdan's cheeks, or Legolas' twitching lips as he very obviously tried hold back his laughter.

Groaning, Buffy was about to apologize when, mercifully, another far more appropriate song fell from her lips. "A horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse, of course, that is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed," she sang, the blush beginning to recede as her smile once more lifted. "Go right to the source and ask a horse; he'll give you the answer that you endorse, he's always on a steady course, talk to Mr. Ed. People go yackity yackity yack and waste their time of day. But Mr. Ed will never speak unless he has something to say," she sang, her voice rising in volume until she was belting out the familiar tune to such a favored childhood show. Sure, it wasn't exactly as beautiful or haunting as any of the songs that the elves had sung, but at least it was about horses. And damn if the song wasn't a catchy little tune. "A horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse, of course, that is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed!" she finished, the final note falling away to allow a thick silence to descend upon the group.

Smile faltering, Buffy waited as the silence thickened, each of the elves obviously attempting to process the song as they turned to one another - and then burst into immediate, delighted laughter as they echoed their approval to the dark night.

* * *

A short distance away from their small clearing, the echoes of laughter teased Vashnak's heightened hearing. Grimacing, he leaned away from the branch upon which he was perched, the very sound of the elves' merriment causing his pale features to twist in disgust. Their fair voices were as though daggers to his sensitive ears, raking across his senses and causing his lips to stretch in loathing. Yet even as the laughter washed over his hidden perch, he watched through narrowed eyes as the young woman with whom they traveled once more looked away from their bright fire, her green eyes piercing the thick shadows as she searched the night.

Somehow, she knew he watched, even if she didn't trust her senses enough to raise the alarm to the others. He would have to be more careful - follow now from a greater distance in order to ease her fears. No, there was time still - time for confidences to be raised, guards to be dropped, and for preparations to be made. And then...

And then he would come.


	14. Chapter 14

**Equinoxium: Chapter 14  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Additionally, credits to Tolkien for the beautiful Elvish hymn.

* * *

"_A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna mriel o menel aglar elenath!_"

Smiling softly, Buffy leaned back as far as she dared upon Drlum's broad back, the sun's long rays warming her skin and causing her mind to lazily drift from one half-thought to another as the soothing elvish hymn washed away her lingering grief and sadness. Her eyes were closed, her hands lightly supporting her weight on each dark gray flank, with her head tilted back until her hair formed a long, golden veil that swayed with the cool fall breeze.

"_Na-chaered palan-driel o galadhremmin ennorath_."

To her right, she could hear the soothing murmur of the Anduin's rushing waters, the soft burble an odd contrast to the swishing of Drlum's long tail and the clop of each heavy foot upon the green grasses on which they tread. With each bump and shift of the large horse, Buffy's legs knocked against Legolas' as he directed the horse along the river bank, the soft knickers of the other animals creating a quiet cadence around them.

"_Fanuilos, le linnathon nef aear, s nef aearon_."

For how cold the nights were becoming, the day was uncommonly warm with the sun shining in a perfect, cloudless blue sky - a sky that continued to throw her, no matter how many days or weeks she had already spent in this strange world. Even in Southern California she had never seen a sky so clear and beautiful, unmarred by smog or pollution. She imagined that this was how the skies back home were _supposed_ to look; the way that they _had_ looked for thousands upon thousands of years before mankind got too much into the modern revolution. Not that she begrudged the advances that they had made in the past hundreds of years. If anything, being forced to go without modern-day conveniences had helped to drive home everything that she had always taken for granted. If anything this constant reminder of what her world had lost and in contrast, all that they had gained, was enough for Buffy to admit that she was truly unqualified to say which was better. Having been a slayer for seven years, she knew that having the best of both worlds was usually a dream, but to choose one?

"If you lean back any further, I fear that you will fall from Legolas' horse - again."

Mirdan's quiet observation pulled Buffy from her lazy thoughts as she tilted her chin further back, allowing the sun's rays to bathe her face with warmth. "Faker," she stated, her words directed at the dark-haired elf that rode to the right of her and the prince, alongside the river's bank. "And here I thought that you were unconscious when I was _thrown_ from the horse."

Smiling cheekily, Mirdan ran his hand through his horse's long, brown mane. "I was," he admitted, patting his hand gently against the soft suede of Rodwen's coat, "but Thoron was kind enough to tell me of what I had missed."

Shaking her head, Buffy turned in the other direction, one green eye sliding open to glare half-heartedly at the stern-looking advisor that rode on their other side, before once more turning her face to the sun. "Where I'm from," she stated, letting the taunt go, "we have nothing but sunshine almost every day of the year. And how cold it is now? This is our idea of winter."

Frowning in puzzlement, Elrohir urged his horse to step closer to the small triumvirate as his gaze swept over the young woman's bared arms and to the long jacket that lay draped across her lap, as though forgotten. "It is cold for you then," he stated as a soft, cool breeze swept over their party, causing the fine hairs on Buffy's arms to prickle and stand on end.

"Not unbearably so," she negated with a small wave. "Just a bit nippy."

"Then why are you not wearing your coat?" Elladan asked, having followed his brother's gaze to the long coat that half-hid her form-fitting leggings from sight.

"Because if I want to keep this California tan, I need to take advantage of this sunshine while I have the chance," Buffy returned, opening her eyes and squinting against the glare as she finally straightened, her hands wrapping loosely around Legolas' waist.

Once more the horses followed the winding banks of the Anduin, the long grasses bending beneath each fallen foot and twisting with the gentle fall breeze. To their left stood a copse of trees, separate from the forest of Mirkwood while thick enough to block view of the dark shadows that strangled the woods this far south. Yet Buffy's thoughts weren't on those dark shadows, but rather on the brilliant shades of reds and oranges that filled the trees' leafy canopies. Having grown up in southern California, she had never really been treated to the full beauty of fall, and now she found her mind inevitably turning past this season and coming to the one that followed quickly on its heels. "Are we going to get snow?" she asked, unsure whether she was delighted or dismayed by the thought. It would be neat to see snow again, but what with current accommodations being what they were, she had the feeling that sleeping in the cold, powdery mess would be even less appealing than the cavern floor back at the Elmo Mountains of Mirkwood.

"Not this far south," Legolas stated as his gaze drifted to the left and to the dark woods that these beautiful trees hid from view. "In the northern regions, as in Rivendell and Northern Mirkwood, snow falls deep upon the lands and blankets everything beneath a thick mantle of white." Smiling softly at over five centuries worth of memories of winters long past, he slowly forced his eyes away from the east and back south, in the direction of his new home. "I think that the winters of my youth are one of many things that I shall always miss about my father's realm."

Snorting softly, Elrohir curtly shook his head as he urged his horse forward. "Well I, for one, shall not miss it," he stated with a disdainful sniff at the mere thought of the coming winter. "Truly I think that you and your company have done Elladan and I a small favor, for Halbarad and his men complain far too much when the snows begin to fall. It is as though they can no longer see the beauty in nature when the temperatures become too bitter for their human senses."

"Yes, but can the _Edain_ ever truly see nature for what it is?" Thoron asked, his voice light and his eyes never straying from the invisible path that stretched before him - even as the others in the small company immediately turned towards Buffy, waiting for her reaction to the slight.

Sensing their eyes upon her, Buffy merely shrugged her small shoulders as her gaze swept over the peaceful lands that surrounded them. "Personally, I've never been a nature kind of girl myself," she admitted as she took in the wide river, the lands that stretched for miles, and the open skies above. "I was always more about the city than the country, but... it's nice here," she murmured as she absently leaned forward so that the high part of her cheek was pressed against Legolas' warm back. "It's so quiet... no planes, no buses... no people. We don't have places like this in my world anymore."

Resisting the urge to shift beneath what was beginning to become a familiar weight against the straight edge of his back, Legolas frowned as he pondered her words. "I do not think that I would enjoy your world," he admitted as one hand reached forward to run small, soothing circles along Drlum's back.

Smiling once more, Buffy's eyes traced the water as it eddied and swirled around hidden rocks and drooping branches. "You're right," she stated, her words simple as her eyes began following the course of one lone branch as it became caught in the swiftly running current. "My world just wasn't built for elves," she agreed, the rest of the elves' conversation falling to the background as she was reminded of her earlier musings.

Elves in Sunnydale? The idea was laughable, at best. If they managed to survive the idea of breathing air that was soiled with smoke and poisoned gases, of seeing grass and trees restricted to small, appointed plots, or of seeing the wild animals that they respected only within the confines of cages... well, then there was also the matter of the modern wonders of man that she so missed. She imagined that they would be more likely to shoot a car than ride in it. And electricity - or something as everyday as movies or television? If Legolas' reaction to seeing her photograph was any indication, she'd wager that the elves would become either so awed or fearful of the 'sorcery' needed to bring pictures to life that the end result would most likely be something either extremely comical, complicated, or frustrating for all parties involved... not to mention potentially hazardous to whatever modern marvel to which they were introduced. If she thought that she had it bad, being thrust into Middle-earth as she had been, she couldn't even imagine how much more difficult it would have been had it been one of her elven companions that was dropped into her world. Unless it was Thoron, of course, for that just promised all kinds of devious ways to make the prissy elf-

"Damn," Buffy muttered as she sat upright, her eyes darting back to the thick copse of trees that continued to line their path to the left, her earlier tranquility disappearing beneath an invisible cold wave.

"What is it?" Legolas demanded as he instantly tightened his legs around the horse's sides, silently bidding Drlum to stop amongst the swaying grasses. Turning, lithe body tensed upon his mount, he followed Buffy's gaze to the beautiful trees, idly noting that while the twins looked to them in confusion, both Mirdan and even Thoron trusted Buffy's intuitions enough that both were poised for action. "What do you sense?"

"Something not of the good," Buffy returned, her voice quiet as she slid from the horse's tall back, one hand reaching over her shoulder to pull her long sword from its sheath. In moments Legolas, Mirdan, and Thoron dismounted, their weapons drawn as they, too, looked uneasily at the bright wood.

"I sense nothing," Elrohir stated with a puzzled frown as he looked to his twin for confirmation. "Besides, it is still daylight and we draw upon the borders of Lothlrien. There can be no darkness that gathers that we would not-"

"Not orcs," Buffy cut in, her senses stretched to their limits as she tried to puzzle out this new evil. Just as vampires felt different to her than other demons, this new darkness was a separate element from the feeling of orcs - something that she had never before sensed. It felt malevolent, dark, and... vigilant. "We're being watched," she stated, her eyes narrowing as the fine hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle. "We're being hunted," she corrected as the darkness began to advance.

"Something evil comes this way," Legolas announced, his words clipped as his body stiffened in response to the trees' lilting warnings of the darkness that now, undeniably approached their small group.

"Wargs!" Elladan cried out, almost simultaneously with his twin as his senses, long-honed to fighting the darkness that plagued the Misty Mountains, finally alerted him to the darkness that had been invisible to all but Buffy. Gray eyes growing wide in wonder, he glanced briefly at the small blonde as he and his brother slid from their horses and urged them to take cover where they may, joining the other mounts as they hurried to safety. Warg battles were not places for horses, no matter who had reared the brave mounts.

With the horses gone and nothing but the river at their back, Elladan lifted his long bow as a pack of slavering Wargs sprang from the trees, their flight impeded by the hail of arrows that were loosed by the five elves that stood in a line before the banks of the Anduin. As though moving in a dream, the eldest son of Elrond released arrow after arrow from his bow, piercing thick animal hide and shedding blood upon the grassy bank. Yet even as his arrows ran low and his hand moved to the sword at his hip, his thoughts remained fixed upon the small blonde that danced and weaved amongst the evil creatures of Mordor. Not only had Buffy sensed the approaching darkness before either him or his twin, but Legolas and the others seemed to trust this sense of hers implicitly as they waited for no other confirmation before they drew their weapons. This fact alone added such credence to Buffy's abilities that he once more found his mind drifting back to Buffy's explanations of her enhanced powers and abilities. Her speed in healing injury was a feat that he had witnessed firsthand, but to see her senses so tuned to darkness, and to see the way that she now moved amongst the carnage, her heavy sword easily cutting through flank and flesh, driving to pierce heart and cleave head from body... it opened a whole new world to an elf that had lived for nearly three thousand years.

"Brother, behind you!"

Torn from his thoughts, Elladan spun on one heel, only to feel a great weight slam against his side as he was thrown roughly to the ground. Crying out in surprise, he felt the air press from his lungs in one pained gasp as claws and heavy limbs bore his weight into the long, thick grasses and to the unyielding earth beneath. Head snapping against the hard ground, pain bursting from his temple, he felt his limbs twist beneath him as a wave of hot, putrid breath raked over the back of his exposed neck, filling his starving lungs with choking fumes. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Everything was happening too fast, and at the same time, it was as though every second crawled by as he waited for the wide jaws to snap around his neck, piercing flesh and snapping bone, and thereby sending him to the Halls of Mandos before he had a chance to regret not being able to say goodbye to his brother or sister, to Estel or Legolas, to Halbarad and his Rangers-

Yet the final blow never came as the cries of his companions melted away beneath the impossible weight that allowed no breath to return to his starved body. Idly, he thought he felt a warm, sticky wetness slicken his skin and trickle through his thick tresses, weighing down cloth and pooling beneath him - but even that could have been a passing imagining as darkness began to creep around the edges of his vision. His breath had been stolen from him and his increasingly scattered thoughts screamed that with such a weight pressing upon his back, he had no way to regain what had been taken. His cheek was pressed against the ground, the torn and bent grasses broken open and releasing their sharp tang. His eyes were open, he thought, yet the green was fading, darkening, and blurring into a gray mass. He was going to pass out, and if he did, he didn't know if he'd ever again-

The weight shifted and then disappeared altogether, air rushing into his oxygen-starved body. Breath wheezing between parted lips, his lungs aching and head pounding, Elladan felt a small, warm hand on his shoulder as he was gently turned, the broken blades of grass sliding past until the clear, unblemished blue sky filled his vision as though a heavenly dream - a dreamscape that was interrupted as a small, tanned face popped above him, filling his vision with concerned green eyes and a veil of blonde locks that tickled his prickling features.

"You alright? Elladan? Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Wh- Buffy?" Elladan whispered as three slender fingers were shoved before his face. Groaning, Elladan batted the hand away as he struggled to push himself up, feeling the young woman's small arms guide him into a sitting position as his eyes darted around him - and recoiled at the large warg that was lying in an unmoving heap beside him, covered in blood.

"Sorry about that," Buffy apologized as she slowly released her hold on the dazed elf. "They're heavy buggers, aren't they?" she asked as she turned to retrieve her sword from the warg's side as she paused to inspect the massive creature. It looked like some sort of spinach-fed hyena - only three times the size of those that were in the Lion King. Yeah, she was pretty sure that Simba would have bought a one-way ticket to the great Kitty Heaven in the sky if he would have tried to take on one of these guys - especially considering the eerie intelligence that glimmered in their dark eyes. They certainly weren't ordinary predators as they seemed _bred_ for this kind of thing. Almost like the hell hounds at prom, but with an IQ of a devious vampire, and not a brainwashed idiot. "Anyway, sorry you got smushed. Another kitty wanted to join the two that already wanted to have Mirdan for lunch, and I sort of got caught up in the moment.... uh, you are okay, right?" she asked, pausing in her rambling as the elf looked at her, as though trying to detangle her words. "Ell-"

"Buf-"

Twirling as she brought her sword around in a tight arc, Buffy felt the blade dig through thick, short fur and tear into the muscle beneath until it struck bone and slid along the smooth groove. Staggering as the Warg's momentum carried them back a few steps, Buffy felt the grassy bank disappear beneath her stumbling feet as she and the massive beast fell back into the freezing waters of the Anduin, the cold river robbing her of her breath as the heavy creature pushed her beneath the surface until her back rebounded lightly on the sandy bottom. Eyes snapping open, her hair captured by the river's strong currents, Buffy looked through the bloodied water to see the sun shining a few feet above her as she used the river's natural buoyancy to slide from beneath the dead weight and towards the surface.

Coughing as thick rivulets of water poured down her forehead and cheeks, Buffy used one hand to brush her heavy tangles from her face as she lifted her eyes to glare at the dark-haired elf that crouched on the river's bank before her.

"Buffy, are you well?" Elladan demanded, his eyes darting between the petite woman and the stinking warg carcass that lay partly submerged beside her.

"I'm fine," Buffy grumbled as she staggered to her feet, grimacing as the wet leather constricted her movements and tightened around her shivering frame. "Just wet and... clean," she amended as she finally got a good look at the lean elf that continued to watch her with concerned eyes. While she may have been soaked to the bone, at least she wasn't covered in Warg blood. Elladan, on the other hand, looked as though he had bathed in it. "Not to be rude or anything, but you may want to think about joining me and my friend," she stated as she indicated first the dead warg beside her, and then the blood that soaked his gray tunic and caused his dark brown hair to become a tangled, gory mess.

"Elladan, are you... oh my," Elrohir murmured, his words forgotten as he faltered beside the river's bank, his incredulous gray eyes widening at the sight of his disheveled twin. "What in the name of Eru has happened to you?" he demanded as his lips began to twitch.

"I-"

"Is everyone - aie! What is that most foul stench?" Legolas gasped as he stepped beside Elrohir, his eyes twinkling as they darted between Elladan's reddening face and Buffy's waterlogged form. "And Buffy, surely one bath a day is more than sufficient to cleanse the dirt of travel from your body!"

"Nay, my Lord," Mirdan corrected as he joined the line of hecklers, smiling unashamedly at the duo. "She partakes in the river's refreshing bounty not to cleanse herself, but rather to allow distance between herself and the unfortunate stench of the one that she rescued."

"Or mayhap just to offer example of how best to rid Lord Elladan of his most befouled state," Thoron suggested, the barest hint of a smile creasing his serious expression.

Rolling his eyes good naturedly, Elladan took the teasing in stride as he bent to undo the fastenings of his boots. "Laugh all you want, my friends, but be thankful that _you_ were not the one who almost had his life smothered beneath the dead carcass of this Morgul beast.

"Aye, and what a fitting end it would have been for a son of Elrond," Legolas agreed as the elder twin waded out into the swiftly moving currents of the Anduin, careful to remain upstream from the warg body and the blood that continued to dilute in the clear waters. "Forever locked in an embrace with-" he began, his teasing words halted by a startled yelp as Buffy, who had been carefully stepping out of the river and upon the muddy bank beside him, slipped on the wet grass and, pin wheeling her arms to each side, grabbed the only thing she could reach, and thereby pulled them both into the water.

Laughing, Elladan watched as the elf prince struggled to untangle his long limbs from Buffy's as both flailed in the shallow water. "A fitting end, indeed," he remarked coyly as he splashed water upon the half-submerged pair.

"Ha, ha, ha," Buffy grumbled as she once more struggled to free herself from the heavy weight of another. "I'm glad that you're all finding this oh-so-amusing," she stated as she tried rather unsuccessfully to bend her limbs around her constricting leather garments, "but how about a little bit of sympathy for the only one who _is_ affected by the freezing water and who's going to get hypothermia, not to mention pneumonia, if I don't get some help getting out of here!"

"Of course, my Lady," Elladan quickly assured as he waded closer to the pair, his eyes dancing as Legolas visibly struggled with the cloak that was twisting around his slender legs. "Please forgive our rudeness and allow me to assist you," he offered gallantly as he bent towards her, his hand reaching for her own as he checked his hip to the right, sending Legolas crashing into the water once more.

Rolling her eyes as Legolas went under, thereby sending yet another freezing wave crashing over her, Buffy accepted the slender hand and allowed the tall elf to pull her to her feet. Turning, she was then pushed towards the river's bank where Mirdan was already waiting to help her from the water, Elrohir standing ready with the blanket they had secured for her back in Rhosgobel. "Perfect balance my ass," she grumbled, shooting both Legolas and Elladan a final dark glare as she found herself wrapped in the thick, warm blanket, Elrohir's steady hands guiding her back to the spot where the horses patiently waited, having returned upon the battle's rather wet conclusion. "Not my fault the overgrown, evil hyenas wanted to eat Elladan," she added, pausing to turn her glare on one of the many dead Wargs that littered the ground around them.

"Speaking of which, since when do the Wargs travel so freely in these lands?" the younger twin asked as he turned back to where Thoron was trying to coax his lord from the Anduin, even as Legolas and Elladan continued to wrestle in the shallow waters.

"Never, as to my knowledge," the advisor sighed as he finally gave up, deciding that the task was fruitless - even as Mirdan somehow got pulled into the water and the childish squabble. Shaking his head, he stepped away from the water before he, too, could be somehow involved and instead returned to where Buffy was rummaging through the small bag that had been given to her, turning aside blankets in search of the clothes that Legolas had lent her in Rhosgobel. "Then again," he continued, his eyes turning away from the waterlogged girl and to the East, the trees continuing to hide the forests of his homeland, "if I do not miss my mark, I believe that Dol Guldur can be found southeast of this small copse in the woods of Mirkwood. You know as well as I that darkness has long held sway in these parts. Perhaps we offered a target that they could not refuse."

"A company of five elves, and so near the borders of Lothlrien?" Elrohir returned, his voice doubtful as he followed the advisor's gaze. "Despite their foul nature, I cannot deny the intelligence that can be found in these beasts of Sauron. Only in the most fell of winters, starved and with no other options, would a pack of Wargs dare attack such a group - and never this close to Lothlrien's borders, even if the wood does now lay empty. Nay, I believe there is another reason behind such an attack."

"Like what?" Buffy asked as she pulled the long leggings and over-large shirt from the small leather bag that Drlum carried.

"I know not," Elrohir sighed, his features troubled, "but I do know this: something is waking the evil that still hides in these lands. Something is driving the fell beasts and servants of Sauron from their dark caves and giving them courage - causing them to flee - and whatever it be, I know only that it cannot speak well for all that is good in this world."

* * *

Pale features pulled tight and narrow, as though etched into stone, Vashnak watched as the three large orcs shifted warily before him. "I need a small group to join with me in my travels to the south," he stated, his voice hard and cold - a voice that brooked no argument in these orcs that once would have been his commanders. Now they were naught but a lower life form - a tool to be forged and brandished against their enemies.

"As you command it," Gundug replied, his voice suitably reverent as he bowed his misshapen head, long, black matted hair falling around a dark face that was scarred from many years of hard battle. "And the others?"

"Shall be led on to meet with the rest of our kin at the sanctuary," Vashnak stated, his eyes narrowing as he turned from the subservient creatures to look out from the high balcony upon the tower of Dol Guldur. The dark woods stretched a small ways, before the open lands to the west created a void before the edges of the hated forest of Lothlrien, which stood before the great Misty Mountains. The sun had set hours ago, casting the world into a deep, moonlit night and he knew that the party he had been tracking was out there, most likely camped right alongside the eerie wood. By now he was familiar with their routine and confident in their unchanging route. They would continue south until their party met with the Great West Road that would lead them to Gondor, and though they traveled at a steady pace, the servants of Sauron would continue to hinder their way and give him and his companions time enough to reach their intended destination.

"Be prepared," he stated, his voice hard as he imagined the small group, relaxed and merry beside their roaring fire. "We will meet with you within two weeks' time. And then the true work shall begin."

**Author's Note:** The Elvish hymn at the beginning of the chapter was taken from the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and is translated as follows: _O Elbereth Starkindler, white-glittering, sparkling like jewels, the glory of the starry host slants down. Having gazed far away from the tree-woven lands of Middle-earth, to thee, Everwhite, I will sing, on this side of the Sea, here on this side of the Ocean._


	15. Chapter 15

**Equinoxium: Chapter 15  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Additionally, major credit needs to be given to Thundera Tiger for sitting down and figuring out the genealogy of the twins. For the record, they are 25/32 Elf, 3/16 Man, and 1/32 Maia. For the reasoning behind this, just check out her end Chapter Notes in Chapter 17 of her extremely dark but captivating story, "Fear No Darkness."

* * *

Cold, wan moonlight drifted down upon the small camp, the glistening silver rays reflecting off the thick, pale-golden canopied boughs of the nearby forest. The night was silent, save for the quiet murmur of the Great River and the dry whispers of the faded leaves as they moved upon the high branches that graced the tall gray trees - trees unlike anything that Buffy had ever seen before, and unlike any that she would ever see again.

Lothlrien.

The realm of the Golden Wood.

The former home of the Galadhrim.

It was an enchanted forest that now stood empty and bare, silent and haunted... a wood that faded from this world in a slow mockery of all that lived and thrived with green life. Legolas had said that the elves had abandoned their home years before, following the Lady of the Wood in the same path that she had tread a year after the War of the Rings had ended. With Lord Celeborn guiding them, and the great Marchwarden, Haldir, and his brothers, Rmil and Orophin, guarding their company, the remaining elves of Lothlrien left their forest for all time as they made their final journey over the sea to a place where the trees would forevermore be green and golden, to where the light would never fade, and to where sadness would never again touch their hearts.

And in their wake, it didn't take an elf to see that the wood mourned their passing.

Camped along the northeastern edge, the river Anduin running between them, Buffy felt a wave of sadness roll over her small frame as she watched the ancient trees. Earlier, when the sun had still been shining, the sight of the woods had soothed her companions. Yet as the sun began to sink behind the Misty Mountains, the group had become more and more melancholy until Legolas had finally broken the suffocating silence with a sad song about the river that ran through the gray trees.

The melody had been beautiful and haunting - perfectly suited to the strange woods. However, it was the words that caused Buffy's heart to clench even now. The story that had been laced amongst the clear notes had been about an elf maiden known as Nimrodel and of her love, Amroth, and of how she became lost in the mountains and never made it to the ship that was to carry them to Valinor. When the ship set sail without her, Amroth then dove into the water, determined to return to his love... and neither were heard from again.

Legolas had fled from the camp even as the last verse hung in the quiet night, his light feet carrying him downriver and presumably into the forest itself, with Thoron quick on his heels. For a moment, Buffy had merely watched them go before she once more turned her eyes to the trees. While the story of Nimrodel and Amroth was sad, thanks to modern cinema, Buffy's world had its fill of tragic love stories... she had even played into the trap of Romeo and Juliet-esque forbidden love when she had fallen in love with Angel. Yet with the forest looming just across the river and as the shadows began to stretch over the land, she found that the elves' mood was infectious. The air felt different here - heavier and filled with so much sadness and grief - and the dark woods seemed so very still and empty... so devoid of life.

Unconsciously, Buffy found her thoughts wandering back to that long night that she had been chained upon the earth, surrounded by orcs while her body had been bent and broken by pain and suffering. In one of the rare moments in which she and Legolas had been left alone, the elf had sought to distract them both from their misery as he told her of a great elf that had once stated that the time of Elves was over, and that it was now the time of Men. She was sure that he had meant the words to give her the strength to endure what was to come. Strangely, though, the thought had saddened her. Traveling amongst the Firstborn, it was easy to forget that the Eldar were fading from this world - easy to forget that much of their kin had already departed from these shores. Lothlrien, however, turned out to be a stark reminder of the truth of these words. According to her companions, once this place had been one of the strongest, most well-protected dwellings of the elves. Now, it was naught but an empty forest, fading into the twilight.

"Why do you stay?" Buffy asked, breaking the heavy silence as her green eyes swept over their small camp. Elladan and Elrohir looked up from where they were gathered together, sitting side by side as they repaired the arrows that had been spent during the battle with the overgrown hyenas earlier that afternoon. Across from them sat Mirdan, his brown eyes heavy with thought as he turned away from the meat that was cooking over the small fire. "I mean, I get that Legolas stays for his friends, and I even understand why Thoron's sticking around... but what's your story?" she persisted, looking back and forth between the three elves.

Mirdan's eyes drifted to the darkened forest for but a moment before he resolutely returned his attention to the cooking meat. "It is not yet my time to leave these shores," he stated, his words clipped and inviting no further comment.

Frowning, Buffy let his explanation slide as she then turned her attention to the twins that continued to look into the forest, their dark gazes filled with sadness and longing. "And you two?"

"We have not yet made our choice," Elladan stated, forcing his eyes to return to the fletching that he was repairing, his long, nimble fingers flying across the smooth wood.

"Your choice?" Buffy parroted as she settled beside the fire. "What choice?"

Smiling slightly, Elrohir turned his eyes from the the borders of his mother's kin and shrugged lightly. "We are what is known as Half-Elven," he began as his hands began toying with the arrow that he had been fixing.

"Does this have anything to do with your uncle marrying into my race and creating the rangers?" she asked, her brow wrinkling as she recalled Legolas' hasty explanation of what made the Dnedain different than normal men.

"Not exactly," the younger twin remarked, his smile faltering beneath the oppressive weight of Lothlrien. How a wood that was once so beautiful and full of life - a place in which all of your worries would instantly melt away - could now cause such grief and sadness... "Long ago our great-great-great grandfather married a Maia," he murmured, his eyes never once straying from the place of his mother's birth. "Because of that union, their descendents were granted a choice between the way of Elves or that of mortal Men. Their daughter, for example, married a Man and chose to become mortal to follow in his fate, while her son in turn chose the fate of the Eldar - and so had each of their children's children until our uncle, twin to our father, chose the Fate of Men. You are correct in that the Dnedain come from his line, as do the great Kings of Nmenor, the Kings of Arnor, as well as the current King of Gondor, our foster-brother and our sister's husband, Estel."

Buffy followed his gaze into the dark night as the name Estel triggered a memory. She had heard that name before... when Legolas had been telling her about his friend, the man who goes by so many names - and the person that he was taking her to see. Yet the frown deepened as she recalled everything she had learned about this Man, from his elvish upbringing to his many years as a Ranger in the Wilds of the North... and to the wife that had loved him so deeply that she had given up her immortality to stay by his side. "So your sister has already made her choice," Buffy hazarded, watching as Elladan flinched at her observation, even as Elrohir turned away with a soft sigh.

"She has," he admitted as he looked once more upon the faded wood. "The Evenstar has chosen a mortal life and will fade into the death of Men," he stated, his voice softening at the rather bleak proclamation. "In time, my brother and I must either choose to follow in the steps of our father or our sister - and be forevermore separated from those we choose against."

"Oh," Buffy murmured, immediately wishing that she had never asked as her own losses swelled from her broken heart. She had already lost her mother to death, her father to neglect, and now Giles as well. The knowledge that if only they were elven-born, if instead of dying and being thus separated from those she loved, there existed a place like Valinor in which she could spend eternity with her friends and family, forever free from death or hurt or pain...

Frowning, Buffy quickly shook her head as she realized what an unfair comparison she was making. There was no way that she could possibly relate to the decision that was put before Elladan and Elrohir. Yes, it sucked beyond the telling to know that her mom and Giles were dead, but at least Buffy had the comfort of knowing that when she died, she would be going to a place where she would have all of those things and more. She had been to Heaven once and already knew that it was a place that was everything that Valinor promised to be... only in a less corporeal sense. And when you were reunited with your family, what did a body matter? They would be free there; free from death, free from hurt, free from pain...

Free from fighting.

She knew all of these things because _those_ were the reasons that it was so hard for her when she was brought back. What was worse than being sent from this world was having a taste of paradise only to have it taken away and being forced to find meaning in a world that was so harsh - so brutal. She was forced to find meaning in the mundane as she struggled for purpose. But she had found her purpose, and she had dealt with the blows that life had given her.

Her mom was dead.

Giles was dead.

Her friends were gone.

Sunnydale was gone.

She was in a world that she was slowly adapting to, with creatures that she was beginning to think of as friends, and the best part was that when this fight was over, Buffy had to believe that she was going to find her way back to that special place where she could once more be warm, happy, and loved by everyone that she so missed. Whistler had torn out a large, bleeding chunk of her heart when he had forced her to leave her world. The wound ached, it throbbed, and it bled freely with every beat of her hurting heart... and yet it was a wound that could be made whole when her time finally came.

Elladan and Elrohir didn't have this luxury.

Their sister and their foster-brother would most likely go to that heavenly, warm place that Buffy barely remembered - safe together in eternity. Yet by their very nature the Eldar were truly a race divided from Men for after this world, their paths would never meet again. The firstborn were not meant for death. They were meant for the peace of Valinor - a land where death never came visiting - and even if by some misfortune or fell deed, death did find them before that time, their souls were then housed in the Halls of Mandos, a place that would keep those of Elvish descent alone until they reclaimed their bodies in Valinor, or else awaited the end of time within its halls. This separation between father and son or brother and sister would be forever.

And forever truly was a very long time.

* * *

"So this is Rohan," Buffy stated two days later from atop Drlum's broad back, her hands lightly entwined around Legolas' slender waist as her eyes took in the softly rolling, grassy hills of the Downs. "Very _Little House on the Prairie_," she remarked as her sharp gaze swept over the country that gave an all new definition to the word 'open.' To her right she could barely make out the dark edges of yet another forest - Fangorn, according to Legolas - while to the left the land rose steadily as it became lost in shadows. And before them... before them the Downs folded ever up until they opened into the bleak, treeless hills that marked the beginning of the Wold. All in all, Buffy found the land to be rather depressing and she couldn't help but wish for the familiar rushing of the river that had been their constant companion for days now.

"Do not fret overmuch," Elladan teased, riding up beside them and smiling as he saw her dismay. "Rohan is large and this is but a small portion of what she has to offer. The Mark is home to the Horse-lords and their lands are vast and open, the Men brave and true. And if I am not mistaken," he added, his smile turning coy as he nodded to the beautiful blade that was sheathed upon her back, "they are also the crafters of the sword that you carry."

"By tomorrow night," Elrohir continued in that way that was unique to twins, "you will see that the Wold shall fall into the plains of East Emnet, divided from the West by the River Entwash."

"Which means that I have to wait until tomorrow night before I can get clean again," Buffy returned, her expression dimming further as she released her hold on Legolas long enough to pull her hair back in a loose twist, jabbing a piece of a broken arrow shaft amongst the tangled blonde tresses to hold it in place.

"Longer, I'm afraid," Legolas corrected as they continued to climb the low grade to the beginning of the Wold, their campsite for the night. "We will not reach the River Entwash until it bisects with a small copse of trees three days hence. Until then, I am afraid that you shall have to endure as all travelers are forced to when voyaging through these lands. Although," he added, his eyes never straying from the hills before them, "I am surprised that you would be so eager to return to the water's edge after your many complaints this morning and then later this afternoon."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy ignored the remark as she turned her eyes to the open wastelands. Their progress had been much slower than usual that day as they had been forced to ford two rivers in order to continue their southerly route. The first had been that morning when Legolas revealed that, unlike back at the Enchanted River, this time there wasn't going to be a pretty elven bridge. Instead, the small group had been forced to wade across the great Anduin at the lowest point they could find - which was fine for the elves, seeing as how the water only came to their thighs, but for Buffy, she soon found herself submerged well above her hips in the freezing water. That had been bad enough, but her curses had only gotten louder when, just a few hours past, they had come upon yet another river that needed to be crossed. This one, the River Limlight, was arguably a stream in comparison to the Anduin - and yet it was deep enough that Buffy was forced to swim the narrow width - much to her companions' evident amusement.

"You shall have to teach me some of the phrases that you were using," the blond continued as he guided the large horse up the broad hill with the gentle pressure of his knees, his blue eyes twinkling. "I believe that even Gimli's most colorful expressions somehow pale when compared to your... rather imaginative pairings. Tell me, what _did_ you mean by 'the Power-That-Be's butt-monkey'?"

"Use your imagination and I think you'll figure it out," Buffy drawled, refusing to rise to the elf's bait as Mirdan joined in the light-hearted teasing.

"I, myself, have been pondering the meaning of your rather vehement curses against the 'feather monkeys'," he admitted as he arched a fine brow at the petite blonde.

Flushing, Buffy looked away from Mirdan's piercing gaze. Even if they didn't have monkeys here in Middle-earth, from the way that the slender, brown-haired elf was looking at her, she had the sinking feeling that she had been glaring at her companions a little too much at the time to _not_ realize that she had been referring to them.

Laughing at the pink tint to Buffy's tanned cheeks, Elrohir gently nudged his brother as he indicated the prince's riding companion. "Elladan, I do believe that this is the first time that I have seen her so quiet."

"Perhaps it is the first time for you," Thoron cut in as he pointedly turned his eyes from the younger elves with whom he traveled, "but if anything, since you two have joined our little company, she has been anything _but_ quiet. I miss the-"

Yet the rest of the advisor's words were drowned beneath Legolas and Mirdan's admonishments and the twins' indignant exclamations about the obvious joys that their company brought to others. Buffy, however, ignored everyone as she pondered Thoron's words - and frowned when she realized that he had a point. Not only had she become more vocal and animated as the days crept past, but she also found herself becoming more and more like the girl she had been before her mother had gotten sick and less like the hardened woman that she had become when it seemed as though the world was on a continual slide towards darkness. She had always attributed her more reserved nature to growth and maturity, but now she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps her spirit wasn't just being slowly smothered beneath the heavy weight that she had always carried as the Slayer - the one that had only grown heavier and more difficult to bear with the passage of each year.

But here?

Now?

Shaking her head, Buffy finally understood what she had subconsciously realized all along - and that was that for the first time in seven years, excluding her five-month foray into Heaven... the weight was gone.

In Middle-earth, Buffy may still have been a Slayer, but she was a Slayer that had been banished from her world to a place that required very little of her, if nothing at all. During the day she traveled. During the night she slept. She would spend hours conversing with her elvish companions, learning their lore, and occasionally they would ask her to share tales or songs of her world. Yet that was all that they ever asked from her. When evil threatened their party, she took up arms and battled the darkness - but not as the one girl in the world that had been Chosen to do so. Instead, she was merely one warrior amongst many, not fighting to save the world, but to protect her small party.

The change was... liberating.

If this was all that Middle-earth required of her, perhaps Whistler deserved less of her curses than she had anticipated.

* * *

_The deluge came, warm and unforgiving as it scattered its red torrent upon the broken earth. He could feel the thick warmth as it congealed in his blond tresses, matting hair and sliding down his face, coating his features as it dripped down the arch of his neck and drenched his body in blood. It was a tempest that stung his eyes and caused his heart to ache as the world became lost in a grayish gloom, the sun and moon balanced upon the horizon to the west and east, battling between the darkness and the light._

_Crying out, his voice mingled with that of every living creature on Arda as the grayish gloom ensnared their world, drowning them in blood as their cries turned into screams of agony and horror, screams that drove through his sensitive ears like sharp spikes that fractured his thoughts and sent him tumbling to his knees. There was darkness here - darkness battling the light and he knew that there was something to be learned - something to be garnered from this deluge of blood, yet he couldn't think; he couldn't learn with this agony pressing upon his every sense._

_He pressed his hands against his delicately pointed ears as, with eyes squeezed shut, he tipped back his head, the crimson flood pouring down his upturned face. He opened his mouth and screamed his torment aloud - and froze as his single scream pierced the air and shattered the cries of those suffering around him, a thick silence falling upon the world._

_Startled, he pulled his hands from his ears as his eyes flew open, only to find that the wood had been replaced by the vast Pelennor Fields that spread out from the base of Minas Tirith of Gondor, his friends and allies standing beside him in a world that was shrouded in shadows. Slowly coming to his feet, he found Aragorn and Gimli standing beside him, dressed for battle with their faces tense and set. To either side of them stood Faramir and omer and Elladan and Elrohir. And behind them..._

_Behind them stood an army - more than an army._

_Behind him and his friends stood the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan, the elves of Ithilien, the dwarves from Aglarond, as well as the Dnedain from the North - and all stood unmoving with their backs to the White City, their faces looking forward._

_Turning, he cast his sharp sight across the vast fields and gasped aloud at the dim makings of a dark army that faced them. It was an army borne out of shadows, one that he could not clearly discern their make, yet an army all the same. And by the grim countenance of his friends, he knew without doubt that it was an army that threatened all free people of Middle-earth, and therefore, his enemy._

_Suddenly the troops around him came alive as they began to shift uneasily, their hands tightening around their weapons as their voices carried softly to one another. Curious, he turned towards the shrouded army of darkness and felt his breath hitch in his throat as exactly halfway between their forces and the enemy stood a small, cloaked figure that was familiar to him. Frowning, he tried to place the slight creature that stood unmoving on that thin, invisible line, its back toward him and its face looking towards the darkness._

_"Bring it down, Legolas," Aragorn whispered as he looked towards him, his gray eyes flat as steel._

_Automatically he reached for his longbow, draped as always across his back - only to still his hands as something deep within his heart bade for him to pause._

_"Kill it!" Aragorn hissed, his words somehow striking a memory just beyond the elf's reach as he was once more spurred to action, quickly fitting the thin shaft of an arrow to the bow string with an ease borne from over five centuries of experience. Without thought he pulled the string taut and held it against his cheek, his eyes never straying from the cloaked figure._

_And yet once more he paused. There was something not right in this; something terribly wrong that was just beyond his grasp._

_"Kill it Legolas, before all our hard work is lost!" Aragorn urged, his voice now becoming tinged with panic as his hard expression softened into the friend that he had long known - had long traveled with in the wilds of this world. Gone was the stern king and all that was left was the young ranger that had toiled in dirt and shadows for this world, and for the crown he now wore upon his head, and for the white tree that was stitched upon his standard and burned into his black armor. This was his friend. This was Aragorn. The elf had never questioned the man's wisdom before, and he would not dishonor their long, cherished friendship by doing so now._

_With his next exhalation, a moment that stretched for an eternity, he released his hold and watched as his arrow flew across the vast fields - and then felt the earth plummet from beneath him as the creature finally turned. With small, delicate hands the cloaked hood was pushed aside, allowing a fanning of golden blonde hair to fall free to frame an oval face, hiding the round arch of small ears, and glistening around twin eyes of green that met his across the distance._

_"Buffy," he whispered, the name a choked plea as his arrow flew true and pierced tan leather and flesh, causing her-_

"We are under attack!"

Sitting bolt upright on his bed roll, Legolas heard Thoron's repeated warning and the panicked, urgent words of his companions as though from a great distance as fog encased his mind and hindered his sluggish frame. The coppery taste of blood was upon his tongue, sharp and bitter to his buds as he lifted his wide blue eyes to the chaos that erupted form the shadowed night.

The sky was dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds that obscured the distant light of the stars, and yet the roaring fire and the soft light of elvish bodies were more than sufficient to illuminate the large, lumbering creatures that advanced upon their small camp. "Trolls," he murmured, his beleaguered mind vainly trying to process the impossibility of what threatened their small company. "Hill trolls... in Rohan?" he muttered, his voice echoing his confusion as he hastily reached for his weapons, the sounds of battle already being waged about him echoing in his ears.

"I tell you, Mirdan, your company invites disaster!" Elrohir called out, his voice lacking the sharp bite of accusation as he rolled beneath the heavy swing of a troll's large club.

"Ai, do not cast your blame upon me!" Mirdan grunted as he forced his sword past the thick hide and into the back of the lumbering beast. "I have traveled these lands for close to three thousand years and never have I seen a voyage so marked with disaster!" he added as the troll roared its pain aloud before swiping a meaty paw at the tall elf. "Besides, you and your brother are now apart of this company as much as I!"

"Well don't look at me!" Buffy panted as she swung her sword as though she was Jackie Robinson lining up for a winning run. "I'm just along for the ride!" she retorted as she danced around the troll.

Yet look Legolas did, his eyes narrowed and his mind only half on the troll that he, Thoron and Elladan struggled against as the dream continued to haunt his waking mind. It had been many days since he had last given much thought to the nightmare that had plagued his troubled sleep and his waking mind for months before making this voyage - the dream that had disappeared without trace the day that he and the others witnessed Buffy's arrival in Middle-earth. And now the dream had returned - with a vengeance, it seemed, and there was no longer any denying Buffy's role in his sleep's troubled state.

Somehow _she_ was the one that stood between their army and that of darkness. _She_ was the one whose blood Aragorn begged him to spill in order to thwart the equinox... in order to off-set the balance in favor of the sun.... the light. _She_ was the one who brought darkness upon their-

"Mirdan!" Buffy cried out as she shoved the elf out of the way of a swinging club, only to take the hit in his place as her small body was tossed into the shadows.

"Buffy!" Legolas cried, the dream once more forgotten as the elf prince abandoned the fight and raced into the dark night. Panic squeezed his heart tighter than any vice as his sharp eyes pierced the dark shadows until they lit upon the small figure that lay in a twisted heap upon the ground, his glow reflecting off long, golden strands of hair. "Buffy, are you-" he began as he fell to his knees beside her, his frantic hands wrapping around her slender shoulders and helping to ease her against him.

"I'll live," Buffy groaned as she leaned against Legolas' chest, one hand lifting to gently finger her recently-mended ribs. "And nothing seems to be broken," she added, grimacing at the familiar, fiery waves of pain that radiated from each probing touch against bruised flesh. "Which is lucky for Big, Slow and Ugly," she added as she pulled away from the worried elf, her eyes narrowing into slits as she glared back to where all four elves now converged upon the remaining troll. "I would have been _so_ pissed if he had broken them again..." she vented as she struggled to her feet, reclaimed her fallen sword, and hurried back into battle, leaving Legolas to crouch alone amongst the long grasses, his eyes locked on the small woman.

On her world she had been Chosen to fight the evil that inhabited her world - to stand alone before the darkness and hold it at bay so that others could live unencumbered by such dark times. On his world, she did no less as she fearlessly fought against anything that would dare threaten any of his companions, selflessly putting herself in harm's way time and time again. She was more than a Shield-Maiden. She was a warrior - a warrior of light, and though Legolas knew that someone somewhere was trying to deliver a message to him, it was a message that he had not the information to understand. A warning that he couldn't heed.

Thus, he would wait. Elves were infinitely patient and he would endure these night terrors, learn from them, and in time... perhaps in time he would have his answers. Perhaps in time he would understand Aragorn's words. And perhaps in time he would learn what he needed in order to thwart the fate that someone had set before him. Perhaps in time he would be able to save them both.


	16. Chapter 16

**Equinoxium: Chapter 16  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Darkness had long since fallen upon the world as thick, heavy clouds masked the brilliance of the full moon and cast the vast fields of Rohan into the bitter reaches of night. Once more their path was lit solely by the soft radiance of the elves, their muted conversations mingling with the swishing of the long grasses as the horses continued their southerly route with the slow shuffling of beasts long used to travel. Ordinarily they would have stopped hours ago, but this night they pushed on towards the small copse of trees that stood like a beacon to the elves on the vast, open plains.

"I have missed their soothing song," Legolas sighed as the beginning drifts of the familiar, wordless harmony called out to his soul, his legs unconsciously tightening around Drlum's back in a silent plea to bring them quickly beneath the thick canopies.

"Which brings up a question I've been meaning to ask," Buffy returned as she stretched her arms above her, trying to loosen muscles that had grown stiff and tired. "Are you guys pulling my chain or do you really think that the trees are singing to you? Because on my world, singing trees don't exactly mix with sanity. Besides, I certainly don't hear anything," she added, her sensitive hearing unable to discern anything outside of the wind through the long grasses of the plains or through the thick branches of the trees.

"That is because you are not of the Eldar," Thoron responded as Andrann passed into the small gathering of trees in the otherwise flat lands. "Only the Eldar are blessed with such gifts," he added with clear finality as he, too, turned to the small copse, a rare smile lifting his lips. "Although, surely even you can appreciate being amongst their canopies once more."

Shaking his head ruefully, Mirdan ignored Buffy's tired retort to the stern-faced advisor. Sighing as the tension slowly left his long limbs, he lifted a hand to touch a red leaf as they passed quietly amongst the trees. "Alas that the sky is so dark that our first glimpse of these woods is bathed in shadows," he murmured, his features solemn as what went unspoken was that their group had already seen more than their fair share of darkness on this journey south. From orcs, to wargs, to hill trolls and goblins, their small company had encountered just about every kind of evil that there could be found in these parts - and some that didn't even belong on the fields of Rohan. It was as though they had been marked by Iluvatar himself for some misfortune or another.

Drawn from her rather one-sided argument with Thoron, Buffy quickly shook her head. "Yeah, well alas that my butt is so numb that I can't feel anything below the waist... which may actually be a good thing," she amended as she experimentally poked at one leg, her eyes narrowed upon the soft leather. While she had adapted rather quickly to all of the discomforts of riding a horse for twelve hours a day, this extended ride was once more testing her slayer threshold. "So I ask again, what's with the big rush? Why did we _have_ to camp beneath the trees tonight?" she asked as she returned her hands to the soft folds of Legolas' suede tunic.

"As I have told you," the fair-haired elf returned, smiling as his gaze pierced the darkness to track the softly swaying branches above, "it has been far too long since we have last heard the song of the trees."

"Yeah, it's been all of... what... three days now?" Buffy asked, smiling impishly at the back of Legolas' head.

"Yes, but for a wood elf three days is an eternity. Besides, you need fret no longer. Our site is before us," Legolas stated as he swept his hand forward - and then froze as his sharp eyes took note of the flickering light that pierced the shadows before them.

Following his arm, Buffy frowned as she, too, noted the small flickers of light that could be seen through the trees. "Yeah, an idea that appears to be wholly lacking in originality," she murmured as everyone began tiredly reaching for their weapons. "Looks like we're not the only ones with the grand tree plan," she muttered as Mirdan and Thoron somehow went from sitting astride their horses to standing lightly upon the animals' sloped backs, to disappearing into the branches above with nothing but a whisper of moving cloth.

For a few tense seconds, no one moved as Buffy found herself leaning around Legolas, her eyes attempting to pierce the shadows as she stretched her senses to the limits, her teeth unconsciously worrying her lip as she tried to understand what lay before them. This was no orc, and neither was it a warg or troll or anything else that she had come against while in Middle-earth... and yet at the same time, it certainly wasn't human. Frowning, Buffy turned away from the flickering light and glanced at her remaining companions, noting the tense set to their shoulders, their hands locked around the hilts of their weapons, and their bodies unmoving. Even the horses seemed carved from stone as the entire world fell silent - until a single, sharp whistle broke the stillness of the night.

"Thoron says it is a friend that we meet," Legolas sighed as he and the twins released their weapons and urged the animals forward.

"A friend?" Buffy returned as she slowly allowed her sword to slide back into its hand-crafted sheath, forcing her hand to fall back to her side as the three elves continued towards the flickering light, Andrann and Rodwen trailing riderless behind them.

"Well, perhaps not a friend in the intimate sense, but most certainly not an enemy," Legolas amended as the trees finally parted before them to reveal a small clearing, lit by the flickering light of a fire. Instantly his eyes turned past the small pack and neatly rolled blankets that were propped against a far tree, and instead settled upon the tall, dark-haired figure who stood opposite their entrance, the stranger's pale hand slowly releasing the dagger he had drawn.

Silently bidding his horse to stop just inside the small clearing, Legolas slid from his mount's tall back as Thoron and Mirdan landed on the leaf-strewn ground beside him with the inborn grace of those born to the trees. Smiling, the archer crossed his arm across his chest and bowed to the stranger, even as he tried to place his unfamiliar face and strange clothing. He was of average height for his kind, his body long and slender beneath his grimy, travel-stained tunic and leggings, a tattered black cloak thrown about his shoulders. His eyes, as black as coal, were set wide above a straight nose and thin lips that were lifted in a tentative smile, with hair a shimmering dark ebony that framed pale cheekbones and hid all but the highest point of his delicately tapered ears.

"_Mae govannen_," Legolas greeted as he moved across the clearing, his companions following as the strange elf moved forward and awkwardly returned the customary elven words, as though his tongue was unaccustomed to speaking in Sindarin. "I am Legolas Thranduilion," Legolas continued in Westron, both in deference to Buffy and in hopes that the elf, who was obviously not from Ithilien - and judging from the curious glances from the sons of Elrond, not from Imladris either - would be more comfortable speaking in the Common Tongue.

"Well met," the stranger returned with a small, thankful nod.

"Forgive me," Elrohir broke in as he curiously eyed the dark-haired elf, "but your accent is strange to me. From whence do you hail?" he asked as he noted the elf's garments, which seemed to be a mixture of clothing of all races and cultures. The brown leggings appeared to be of Mirkwood design, while the white under-tunic resembled those as worn by the Men who lived west of the Misty Mountains. Then there was the tunic which seemed to-

"Please forgive my brother's abrupt tongue," Elladan cut in as the stranger's thin lips pursed, twin spots of pink coloring the high bones of his cheeks. "I am Elladan, son of Lord Elrond," he stated as he touched his closed fist to his heart and bowed to the elf, "and this is my twin, Elrohir," he added with an apologetic nod towards his sibling, younger by only a few minutes.

Smile beginning to falter, Legolas listened as Mirdan and Thoron offered their own introductions, his eyes critically sweeping over the unknown elf. In the past, coming upon one of the Eldar that was unknown to him would not have been so strange, but with the Age of Men now upon them, and with the majority of the elven population having already left these shores, such a phenomenon was rare. Especially for an elf that was dressed so strangely, whose accent, as Elrohir had noted, was so curious, and whose eyes contained a brittle hardness not usually seen in his kind.

"Well met to you all," the stranger returned as he mimicked the elven bow, his movements altogether fluid and awkward at the same time. "And the Lady?" he asked, his dark eyes sliding past Legolas and to something just beyond where the small elven party stood.

Turning, Legolas followed the other's gaze, his own eyes narrowing as he found Buffy where they had left her, still perched upon Drlum's dark-gray back with her sharp gaze riveted upon them. While she didn't exactly seem poised to strike, the tense set to her shoulders spoke of a wariness that Legolas had long learned to heed during his travels with the petite woman - a wariness that caused his curiosity to become dispelled beneath a layer of suspicion as he instinctively turned his eyes to the darkness that surrounded the small clearing, his ears straining to pick up any discordant notes in the trees' lulling song.

"Our apologies," Mirdan murmured as he shot Buffy a puzzled frown, oblivious to his lord's mounting concern. He lifted his hand and indicated for her to come forward - and felt his frown deepen as she reluctantly slid from the horse and slowly moved towards them. "This is Buffy," he introduced, throwing her a puzzled glance as she stopped in between he and Legolas, her hand twitching towards her shoulder and her sword's hilt before visibly forcing it to her side. Frown deepening even further, he turned to his prince in confusion - and felt his puzzlement twist into concern as Legolas' eyes narrowed upon the dark woods around them.

"Well met," the stranger returned as he slowly reached down and took Buffy's fidgeting hand in his and raised it to his lips, his black gaze locking with her piercing green eyes. He could feel her distrust in the stiff set to her hand where it touched against his lips, and in her eyes he could see the transformation as her unease sharpened into a fine point, her body jerking with the bolt of recognition that flared in those wide green orbs.

"Vashnak," Buffy gasped, the harsh name that she had heard only once before slipping from her lips as the visage that had haunted her nightmares became superimposed over the beautiful face that was set before her. Intellectually she knew that it couldn't be him; that it was impossible for the twisted orc that had spent a long night making her misery his personal lustfest to be standing before her; that this creature couldn't possibly be the orc that she had last seen writhing in agony upon the blood-stained ground - writhing in agony because he had-

Refusing to finish that thought, Buffy felt her mind spin as logic told her all of these things even as her heart knew the truth, finally understanding what her senses had been trying to tell her all along. Even when the elves had all relaxed at the news that they weren't stumbling upon a camp of nasties, Buffy found herself unable to shake away the nagging doubt that _something_ was wrong. The elf before her felt different from her companions - not innately evil like the wargs, not twisted against nature like the orcs, but.... different. A bad kind of different. Yet it wasn't until she looked into his coal-black eyes, his warm lips pressed against her skin, that she was finally able to look past the pretty packaging to see the twisted soul within - to _recognize_ the creature that had spent countless hours torturing her with his brethren.

"He's an orc-" she began, her hand twisting from his grasp as she reached for her sword, only to have her shrill warning lost beneath a surprised grunt as Vashnak seized her wrist with a speed and strength that spoke of the Eldar. Warm hand wrapping around the delicate bones with a crushing grip, he pulled her forward, tipping her off balance and simultaneously swinging her around until her back was pressed against his chest, his right hand still tightly gripping the injured appendage as he used his arm to pin her against him, a long dagger materializing in his left hand as the sharpened blade came to rest against the hollow of her throat.

Everything had happened so quickly, his actions more blur than movement, that precious seconds were lost before her companions were even aware of what was happening, her warning still echoing in the cool night. By the time that the others had realized that the threat came from within the small clearing, and not from without, it was already too late as the points of five elven arrows were trained without a single shot having been released. Everyone knew that even a killing shot carried too much chance of the knife tearing into soft skin and spilling precious blood. She may have been a slayer, but as she had already learned once by this orc's cruel hand, she certainly wasn't invincible to the bite of a dagger.

Eyes hard and cold, Vashnak lifted his head and released three short, piercing whistles before turning back to his captive. The young woman held her body rigid against his own, her sheathed sword pressed against his tunic and her right arm pulled awkwardly across her body, her wrist still captured in his tight grip. He could feel her chest move as she worked to slow her startled breathing, trying to ease the press of skin against the knife's sharp blade as he felt her heart hammering in discordant chaos against his own. He could _hear_ her blood rushing through her veins as the rest of the world fell silent. For a moment, it was as though nothing existed outside of him and his unwilling captive.

"What did you do?" Buffy demanded, her words slow and even against the knife against her neck. "How did you-"

"Me? I did nothing," Vashnak returned, his words a soft whisper against her ear as he tilted his head forward, his ebony locks sliding over their shoulders. "It was _your blood_ that set me free," he stated as Buffy felt the ground lurch beneath her feet with those five simple words.

"Set you free? I don't understand!" Elrohir growled, his eyes snapping to his brother and companions. While Mirdan and Elladan looked just as clueless as he, Legolas' face had grown ashen and Thoron turned his scathing glare from the dark-haired elf to the young woman he held captive.

"What is your name, Master Elf?" Elladan demanded, his voice as hard as stone as his gray eyes, so like his father's, narrowed upon the dark-haired elf, his arrow never wavering from where it was aimed at his head.

Black eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, the creature tore his gaze from the golden crown of Buffy's head. "Did you not listen, _Elf_? My name has already been given - though I am no _golog_!" he hissed, spitting the orcish word for the Eldar as his eyes narrowed into black slits. "I am something more... something new and something old - something different," he murmured, his voice softening into a soft caress as though casting a spell upon them - a spell that was shattered as he lifted the knife and drew the sharp edge over Buffy's cheek in an act reminiscent of his final brutal act only weeks ago, the cold metal biting deep into flesh and drawing blood before it was once more pressed against the soft arch of her throat.

Hissing as the unexpected pain burned a fiery path across tanned skin, Buffy bit back her cry as she felt her blood ooze down her cheek and slowly drip from the point of her chin, splashing upon the hand that was still pinioned in Vashnak's tight hold across her chest. Everything was happening too fast and Buffy felt herself whirling beneath the implications. She didn't understand what any of this meant. She didn't understand how her blood could be responsible for... for... for-

"Orcs!"

Startled, Buffy's green eyes snapped open as she instinctively looked to Legolas, finally focusing her thoughts long enough to realize that the Elf was right. She could feel them, their wrongness nearly overwhelming. Orcs were coming, coming fast... and they were coming because Vashnak hadn't come alone.

"You were waiting for us," Legolas stated, ignoring the trees' frantic warnings of the creatures that swept amongst their dark boles, their shrieks carrying on the night wind. "You are the reason for all of the attacks. For-"

"The Elf is good," Vashnak cut in, his black eyes twinkling with barely disguised mirth as he once more lowered his head to whisper into Buffy's ear, fully aware that the elves could hear everything that he said. After all, though he was loathe to admit it, their senses were one and the same, their abilities reflective of a race that represented everything that he despised. "But I wonder... will he and the others leave you to save themselves? Will they abandon you?"

Frowning, Buffy instinctively turned her eyes to those with whom she had spent practically every moment since her arrival in Middle-earth. While she harbored no hope of Thoron possessing any desire to stick around on her behalf, she knew that the other four wouldn't be so quick to leave her to the orcs' mercy, or lack thereof. Although, that thought alone was enough to cause a small scowl to twist her lips.

This was the _second_ time in less than two weeks that she had been placed in the rather unfortunate and completely unique situation of being at the mercy of someone else. She was the Slayer, and as such, she wasn't the one who was supposed to be held hostage and used as a bargaining chip. She was the one who did the bargaining and saved the day. That was her job, her role in life, and to be put in a situation where things were so horribly reversed only caused everything to feel even more surreal than before. Even though it rubbed Buffy in so many different ways, she had to admit that in this case, she was powerless to do anything. They were at an impasse and they all knew it. The elves couldn't attack without risking injury to her, and it wasn't as though Vashnak was going to just drop the knife. Even more importantly, Buffy was quickly discovering that she liked her neck just the way it was, that it suited its purpose of attaching her head to her shoulders quite well, which meant that when it came right down to it, she wasn't going anywhere. Yet that didn't mean that her companions had to share her fate.

"Go," she whispered, her eyes sliding past the others to lock on Legolas' impassive face - a face that was as still as a statue carved by any craftsman... and yet his clear blue eyes were not made from stone. Instead, his blue eyes shone with the light of the stars as they met her own and remained thus even as the orc cries became deafening. Those blue eyes told her that he would not abandon her anymore now than he was willing to back before they had been taken by orcs in their small campsite in Mirkwood. Legolas Thranduilion would run from no orc.

"Legolas?" Elladan murmured, his clear voice pinched as he turned away from Vashnak and shouldered his bow in favor of his sword, his brother doing the same as Thoron and Mirdan leveled their arrows into the darkness that was hidden just beyond the fire's flickering light. "Legolas, I dearly hope that you are operating beneath some sort of bizarre wood-elf strategy," he stated as he darted a quick glance at the young prince who remained locked as before, his arrow unwaveringly pointed at Vashnak's forehead. "A strategy that you are about to share with your companions, no less?" he hazarded as the orc screams fell silent, the firelight reflecting off of dark, beady eyes that watched them from the shadows.

"Fools," Vashnak stated as the orc troupe under his command warily stepped from the shadows, their dark eyes locked upon the arrows and swords drawn before them as they lifted their own worn blades. "You have already cast your lot by not running when you had the chance. Now lower your weapons before I slit her throat and spill her blood upon this earth," he advised as he shifted his grip, gently digging the blade against her neck.

For a tense moment, no one moved as the elves instinctively turned to Legolas, watching him for their cue - a cue that came when Legolas slowly lowered his bow, the arrow falling from the slackened string and toppling to the ground with a soft snick as the sharpened head became embedded in the soft dirt. "Lower your weapons," he ordered, his voice an even monotone as he casually draped the longbow over his shoulder.

Eyes growing wide, the younger son of Elrond looked from Legolas' tall form to his brother's incredulous eyes, and then past as both Mirdan and Thoron quickly obeyed their lord's command, the unused arrows falling at their feet as they returned their bows across their shoulders and backs. "Leave it to a wood-elf to come up with _this_ for their plan," Elrohir grumbled as he reluctantly followed Elladan's lead, slowly returning his sword to its sheath as he glared at the dozen or so orcs that leered at him with hungry eyes.

"I agree, my brother," Elladan snorted as the orcs broke as though a dam had been released, charging forth like the hungry waters of the Bruinen as their rough, black hands twisted one arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees amidst a sea of dark-clad bodies. "Let it be our lesson of what occurs when a Noldor listens to a Silvan elf," he added, before a meaty, scaled fist connected with his jaw in an obvious order to stay quiet.

Wincing as Elladan rolled with the blow, Buffy suddenly found her view obstructed as a large, misshapen orc stepped before her and Vashnak, its black, cracked lips split wide in what could only be described as a hungry leer. Eyes narrowing into slits, the slayer felt her muscles knot, her body rippling with coiled energy as the foul beast drew closer until he towered above her, its thick hand reaching out to seize her free left hand in its own, easily holding it as the other hand gripped her chin and forcefully turned her head to the side. Ignoring the dig of the knife against her throat, Buffy looked past the small troupe of orcs and once more sought out Legolas' reassuring blue eyes, wanting to draw strength from his strong gaze. But she couldn't find Legolas in the throng, and instead she found her eyes drawn to Thoron from where he was kneeling beside the dying fire, still proud before his captors.

If _she_ didn't even understand what was going on, she knew that the advisor couldn't possibly know. Yes It was apparent that he suspected something that her beleaguered mind couldn't process as the indifference that he usually showed her had been replaced by pure and utter loathing. Wanting to recoil from the elf's heavy glare, Buffy settled instead on slipping her green eyes shut, as though somehow the darkness could protect her from what was happening without - yet as a hot breath washed over her injured cheek, as something warm and slimy, coarse and abrasive pressed against the wounded flesh, Buffy found that comforting darkness slip away as her eyes flew open, her body automatically tensing as the thick tongue grated against the long cut. There was no way that a tongue should hurt that much, but it was as though the orc was striving for something that she didn't understand as the vile thing probed past the sliced skin as though trying to reach something that was hidden within her cheek, aggravating the wound and causing the blood to course into his mouth.

Whimpering as the tears burned at her eyes, Buffy felt all at once violated and sickened by this orc's tongue as it pressed against her cheek, her soft sound of distress sounding muffled and as far away as the angry shouts of her companions and the cheers of the other orcs that gathered around them. Yet what was worse than everything was Vashnak's low, melodious voice as his lips brushed against her ear.

"So your gift has been given to another."

Instantly everything became too much and as her veins filled with ice, she felt herself lose control. Her body was cold - freezing - and suddenly Vashnak's hand around her wrist and his chest pressed against her back were like points of fire against her hurting skin. She wanted him gone, away, and she wanted this to stop. She remembered what happened the last time an orc had tasted her blood and she didn't want to see it again. She didn't want to hear its agonized screams and she couldn't handle the implications. Suddenly it didn't matter that there was a knife pressed against her throat. It didn't matter that these creatures were stronger than vampires for in the end, in her panic, their strength couldn't touch hers.

As an inarticulate cry escaped Buffy's lips, she quickly tore her left hand loose of the orc's tight grip and twisted forward, semi-aware of Vashnak withdrawing the blade before it could slice into her neck. But then everything was a blur as she lashed out with a sharp kick that sent Vashnak tumbling to the ground, her back slamming against the startled orc that had dared taste her wound and sending them both careening into the mass of orcs. Idly, she thought that she saw Legolas and the others follow her cue as they broke free of their own captors, seizing knives and swords as they began to cut through the orcs that blocked the path to the horses that had been imprisoned amongst more of the small troupe. But even thoughts of her companions were a distant concern as she became a beast of fury and uncontrolled panic, hands and feet lashing out against any that dared come near her. She was moving on instinct alone, more so than any other time in her life, that even thoughts of the sword that was strapped to her back were forgotten as she instead used the gifts that the PTB had blessed her with to make everything within reach feel her anger - until the scream that she had dreaded shattered her momentary insanity.

The world became frozen as all eyes fell upon the large orc that had come before her, still lying on the ground from where he had fallen. His black eyes were impossibly large, his back arched and limbs rigid as his mouth became locked in a soundless scream of agony. And then it was moving again as black hands clawed at its throat, sound once more escaping its lips as it began to keen in agony.

Mind growing numb, Buffy felt her energy and will disappear with that soul-shattering sound as she fell to her knees amidst a pile of bodies, some dead and others merely stunned by the scene before them. Tears blurring her vision, she felt her eyes slide shut as her world became enveloped in darkness, her hands pressed tightly against her ears in a vain effort to block out the horrid sound. Yet with each new wheeze and agonized scream, Buffy felt as though something inside of her died just a little bit more.

But then there was a warm hand wrapped around her arm as she was roughly hauled to her feet, her weak limbs trembling beneath her as she stumbled against a familiar, lean form. Eyes slipping open, Buffy found everything moving again as she was guided across the clearing to where the elves waited, their swords catching the flickering light of the dying flames as they battled from atop their tall mounts against the orcs that glistened in the darkness. Turning her weary head, Buffy lifted her eyes to the smooth line of Legolas' chin, his skin glowing with the strength and purity of the Eldar. For a moment, she became lost in his simple beauty before his comforting presence disappeared, her weight suddenly supported against Drlum's strong flank. Head whirling, she watched as Legolas leapt lightly upon the stallion's high back before she felt his hand wrap around her arm, pulling her effortlessly up as her legs slowly struggled to find purchase as she was unceremoniously deposited before him, her hands instinctively becoming entwined in Drlum's coarse mane.

As one, the elves turned their horses away from the clearing, their steeds poised to flee from this deathtrap - only to have the world once more become centered around the shrill keening that hiccupped into an inhuman scream of untold agony. Together, elves and orcs alike turned to watch in muted horror and fascination as the writhing orc, now convulsing upon the ground, lifted one hand before his face... a hand that slowly began to stretch, the sounds of brittle bones cracking and merging as it grew longer, the skin hue changing from deep mottled black to a pale cream, the skin becoming smooth and... perfect.

Without thinking, Buffy found herself turning in her seat as she somehow managed to slide Legolas' bow from his back while snagging an arrow from his quiver with the other hand. Then, before anyone could speak, let alone move, she leaned around the elf and drew back the arrow, releasing the bolt to fly straight and true across the clearing, imbedding itself in the orc's forehead and forever silencing its scream. For a second more, the silence stretched as orc and elf alike watched as the tortured creature slumped upon the ground, a small trickle of blackish blood oozing from the arrow protruding from its black, cracked skin - until the blood began to run red.

"Hurry," Thoron urged, his voice cracking as he turned and spurred Andrann into the cover of the trees. "We must flee!"

"To Edoras!" Elladan added as his own proud mount leapt forward, charging through the trees and into the open fields beyond as the small company fled almost due west to the nearest safe haven to be found in these lands; Edoras, home of omer King and a refuge against the unending darkness of this cold night.

* * *

As the elven horses charged from the clearing, Vashnak slowly reclaimed his feet, his hands absently brushing the dirt and leaves from his hopelessly stained tunic. Black eyes narrowing in his pale face, he looked to where Gundug had fallen, the orc's face forever locked in a state of agony with its one perfect hand draped across his chest. Those that had survived the elves' brutal attack slowly gathered around their fallen captain, their faces twisted in reverence as they looked from the orc to the one that had promised them such deliverance - an ascension to that which they were meant to be.

"Vashnak?"

"Join with the others and see that the preparations have been made," Vashnak ordered, his eyes falling to the orc who would now lead this small band. Then, without waiting to see that his commands would be followed, he turned back to the site of the massacre and retrieved his small bag, briefly checking to see that all that he needed could be found within.

If they thought that they could escape with the prize so easily, they were about to learn how wrong they could be.


	17. Chapter 17

**Equinoxium: Chapter 17  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note**: To ensure that we avoid any and all confusion with the smattering of names that are thrown about in the LoTR world, please remember that quite a few characters go by many names. As we covered earlier, Gandalf and Aragorn are a couple of these people - as are Arwen and owyn. For example, Gandalf is also known as Mithrandir to the elves. Arwen is also known as the Evenstar. owyn is also known as the White Lady. Aragorn is also known as Estel to Arwen and the twins, Strider to the hobbits, and Elessar to his subjects (among others). I know that I could probably just keep calling the characters by one name, but in hopes of being true to LoTR, I'm going to have to call them different things depending on who's addressing who.

* * *

With a frantic pace that had lasted them throughout all the long night, the five elven horses carrying their six weary passengers rode up to the great wooden gate of Edoras mere hours after the sun had risen. As a testament to the peace that now blanketed their world, the impossibly tall gates were thrown open in silent invitation to travelers, merchants, and peasants alike, and the small company took advantage of this fact as they charged through the gates and past the startled denizens, climbing the winding street paved with rough-hewn stone ever higher until they finally gained the steps that led to the great Golden Hall of Meduseld.

Landing lightly beside his horse, Legolas reached up to help Buffy from the tall height as she slid into his arms, only to lean heavily against him as her legs buckled beneath her slight weight. Eyes narrowing in concern, he turned his piercing gaze upon her down-turned head, frowning as he noted the pale tint to her pallor, the glazed appearance of her eyes, and the ragged cut that had clotted sometime during the night, crusted blood flaking around the tattered edges and down her cheek.

Their escape had been urgent as they had pushed their horses through the night, desperate to reach the safety of Edoras. With this enemy now revealed, none of the elves harbored any thoughts that their next opponent would be so mundane as a few hill trolls. They had need to reach omer and they needed to do so quickly, which had left no opportunity for talk as each had fallen prey to their own dark thoughts. Yet while he and the others had been rejuvenated by the sight of the familiar Golden Halls, Buffy, it seemed, was still locked in whatever troubled place her thoughts had carried her.

"Here, we will take her," Elladan offered as he and Elrohir moved silently beside them, the twins' gentle hands wrapping around Buffy's slender waist and easily supporting her between them.

"We must see omer and send word to Estel," Elrohir added, his features grim as he nodded to where Thoron and Mirdan waited before the grand steps.

Sighing, Legolas reluctantly released his hold on the seemingly frail slayer and turned towards the high steps and the gleaming doors that waited atop the massive stone entranceway. As always the wind was strong here, so high upon this hill and unprotected by tree or bush. Brisk and cold, it pulled at the long strands of his unbound hair, catching and tangling them around his pale features as he started up the stairs, the others trailing behind him.

Normally, custom would demand that visitors to the King's Hall would relinquish their weapons to the guards outside and wait to be announced before proceeding into the massive stone hall. Legolas, Lord of Ithilien and one of the famed Nine Walkers, friend to omer King, was granted certain liberties not afforded to other guests. This fact, combined with the weight of what he had witnessed, caused for the blond elf to forgo even the most minute of courtesies as he brushed past the waiting guards and threw open the doors to the Great Hall, his long strides carrying him into the shadowed interior as Thoron and Mirdan fell into step to either side of him.

Immediately he found his eyes turning forward, quickly adjusting to the dim lighting as they found omer's familiar form seated upon his throne, the man's curly blond hair nearly hiding the small circlet he wore upon his brow and framing his strong face. Nine years had come and gone since Legolas had first laid eyes upon this young king, and in his place sat a man of nearly forty years, his easy smile belying the firm lines of his strong jaw. Beside him, resplendent in a gown of deep blue with her golden, tousled hair cascading over her shoulders, sat his queen, Lothriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Yet what Legolas hadn't been expecting was the two figures that were seated prominently before the King and Queen of Rohan.

"Legolas!"

Pausing mid-stride, the Lord of Ithilien floundered beneath his good fortune as his eyes eagerly swept over the proud form of the very friend that he had been striving to reach all these long days. "Aragorn!" he cried, his blue eyes lighting upon the tall man that, though mortal, showed the passing years far less than his fellow king thanks to the blood of the elves that ran through his veins. His black hair was just beginning to show the slightest peppering of gray, his silver circlet with the green elfstone shining from his brow as his gray eyes crinkled in joy.

"Legolas, what an unexpected-"

Yet the king never finished his joyous greeting as his wife's slender hand fell upon his shoulder, her own piercing gaze locking upon Legolas and the two companions that paused beside their lord. "What has happened?" she asked, her fair voice ringing off of thick stone as she took in their disheveled state and the shadows that lined their eyes.

For a moment, Legolas found himself floundering beneath the heavy weight of Arwen's questioning glance. Though the Evenstar had chosen to follow her husband to the Doom of Men, to the naked eye she still possessed the full beauty and grace of the elven race. Only those who knew her best would be able to see the changes that her choice had wrought - the slight sorrow that lined her dark eyes and the weight that now pressed upon her slender shoulders. Her senses, while still far more sensitive than those of Men, had become dampened by her choice, the song of Ilvatar becoming disjointed to her ears while the whisper of the trees and the open lands seemed less lulling - and yet the strength in her eyes had not diminished. Beneath the heavy weight of her worried stare, Legolas found that his words had fled from his tongue, leaving the silence to thicken as he tried and failed to somehow explain all that had transpired. In the end, he found that he could not and instead did the only thing left to him as he silently stepped aside, revealing the twin sons of Elrond and the one they supported.

Gasping softly, Arwen found herself riveted by the unexpected sight of both her beloved brothers and the young woman that stood between them. The twins looked worn and tired, while the girl they sheltered looked pale and distraught, her eyes turned to the floor before her with one hand pressed against a bloody gash that was crusted in dried blood and marred her pretty face. Her garments were unseemly and foreign to the queen, tight brown leather that hugged narrow legs and dipped low over the tanned skin of her bosom, vaguely hidden beneath the long coat she wore. Idly the queen became aware of the rustle of thick cloth as Lothriel moved beside her, the younger queen's hand fluttering to her lips before she cast aside her hesitation and hurried towards the gathered elves, her long gown flowing behind her.

"You poor thing," Lothriel murmured as one of the elven twins stepped back to allow her access to the shorter lady, the blonde seemingly oblivious to the world around her. A small frown worrying her pretty face, the queen gently eased an arm around the stranger and guided her towards a low bench.

"Elladan, Elrohir - what has happened?" Arwen demanded as she hurried to Lothriel's side, her warm hands gently pulling the stranger's limp fingers to the side so that she could inspect the nasty cut. "Estel, you should see to this," she called out, beckoning her husband forth as she knelt before the stranger.

"There... there was an orc," Elladan explained as Aragorn shouldered his way through the growing circle, his skilled hands gently probing the enflamed wound.

"But it wasn't an orc," Elrohir offered as omer joined their small circle, already having sent for clean cloths and warm water.

Turning away from his inspection, Aragorn arched a brow at his foster-brothers before shaking his head in irritation, his eyes seeking out the blond archer that had long been his companion. "Legolas, tell us plainly what has happened," he urged, noting the way the elf's eyes never strayed from the despondent young woman they had led into omer's halls. "Who is she?" he asked as he waved towards the stranger.

Sighing, Legolas felt the long night press upon him as he wearily waved towards the slayer. "Her name is Buffy," he stated, his eyes filling with sadness. "And she-"

"I'm a warrior."

Startled, everyone turned towards the petite blonde as her head slowly tilted down, her eyes falling to the hands that she had loosely clasped in her lap.

"At least... I was a warrior," Buffy amended, her words sounding so far away to her own ears - even further than the voices of Legolas or the twins, or those of the strange men dressed in fine robes and the beautiful women in their long dresses. She felt detached from the world around her - distanced from her own mind and body and only half aware of those that watched her closely, the world silent save for her soft words.

"Buffy, are-"

"I was a warrior for the good guys," Buffy cut in, forcing her leaden chin to lift as she vainly searched faces that seemed alien and distorted, desperately looking for a familiar face amongst these strange creatures as her blessed, numbing existence began to become muddied and polluted by half-remembered screams. "I'm the one who was Chosen to stand before the darkness... before the evil," she continued, her words beginning to fall faster with each uttered cadence as the screams echoed, the strange faces twisting into that of Vashnak.

"I was dead and my time was over," Buffy murmured, feeling the pain twisting in her chest as everything began to build within her - every suspicion, every worry, and every heartfelt terror that had been awakened within her ever since she first found herself in that sun-drenched wooded clearing in this strange world. "My time was over, I _know_ it was over, but my friends brought me back. They brought me back to life. But they weren't supposed to and it ruined the Balance. There was too much Good and it was wrong. All wrong," she stammered, feeling the tears begin to burn the corners of her eyes and hating herself even more for this weakness. "The First wanted our blood, and the only way to restore the Balance was to undue what had been done... and so They sent me away to where I was needed... to where I was needed," she murmured, her words dying as everything became blindingly clear in one horrible flash.

Once more Buffy found herself in a blood-stained clearing that was lit by pre-dawn light, faced by the troupe of Rangers as she vainly tried to explain her purpose in being there, and once more she heard the teasing taunt of one intuitive ranger: _Or perhaps our world has become too peaceful and the Valar have sent you to offset the scales in the other direction. Maybe _you_ bring the great evil._

"Oh God," Buffy stammered, staggering weakly to her feet as she felt the meager contents of her stomach lurch with those taunting words. Her world was crashing down around her and everything went silent except the thundering of her own heart. "Oh God," she repeated, feeling the tears course down her cheeks in bitter streams of understanding. "They didn't send me here to make things better," she whispered, the words choked from her aching throat as she lifted her head, her green eyes finally seeing her surroundings for what they were as they unerringly found Legolas' familiar face amongst the blur of everything else. "You guys have been saying it all along, but I refused to listen... refused to see...

"I'm nine years too late to help you guys," Buffy stated, wanting to stop but knowing that she was unable. "They... they sent me here because things were _too_ good," she stammered, knowing even as she spoke the words aloud that it was a conclusion that Legolas had somehow already reached. A conclusion that he already knew. "They sent me here to make things worse. They... they made _me_ the Bad Guy."

For another moment, silence reigned as her stark words echoed amongst the high stone. There was no accusation in Legolas' eyes, but in a way, Buffy realized that there didn't need to be. All the accusation that she needed was in her own heart as she slowly looked down upon the blood that stained her hands. Her blood.

_Your blood set me free._

Stomach heaving painfully, Buffy looked away from her stained fingers as she forcefully pushed aside a tall, blond-haired man and the beautiful, dark-haired she-elf that stood beside him. "I... I shouldn't be here," she stammered as she turned about in the massive room, her eyes desperately searching the shadows until they landed on the open doors at the far end of the room, flooding the floor before them with daylight. Gasping, she turned towards the open portal, her legs once more filled with strength as she half-stumbled, half-ran towards the light, leaving the stunned group in silence.

Shock-laden limbs heavy and lethargic, Legolas watched as her blond hair trailed behind her slender frame as though a banner, before even that disappeared into the bright wash of the light of the new day. Slowly, he turned to follow her when the hands of Elladan and Elrohir fell heavy upon his shoulders, silently bidding him to stop.

"Let her be for awhile," the elder twin advised, his eyes, too, locked on the place where Buffy had disappeared.

Sighing, Legolas slowly nodded his agreement as he reluctantly turned from the open door - and grimaced as he found Aragorn's wide, disbelieving eyes upon him.

"Will someone please explain to me exactly _what_ in the name of Ilvatar is going on?"

* * *

Chest heaving, Buffy staggered from the dark hall and into the blinding sunshine as a fierce, cold wind tore at her hair, the unrelenting gale pulling at the edges of her leather jacket and causing it to flap loudly behind her. The sound of the wind was like a dull roar in her ears as her eyes painfully adjusted to the bright light, blinking away searing sun spots to reveal the downward arc of the village that seemed to be built into the hill that circled beneath them. There was a time when this modest village built within the impressive keep would have amused her, while the view of the wide plains with the towering, snow-capped mountains serving as a backdrop would have left her breathless. This, however, was not that time.

Perched on the very edge of the stone landing with a high drop spread out before her, she felt adrift from the world around her as the cold wind chapped her pale cheeks, causing her eyes to tear as the sun only served to remind her of the night that had been spent lost in darkness and thought. She was so tired... so very tired and worn, her head hurting nearly as much as her heart. She had spent the last few weeks blessedly free from the responsibilities of a destiny that had so burdened her spirit, and to have them come rushing back in a terrifying reversal in one night was simply too much for her to bear. She felt... fragile.

Frowning at this alien thought, Buffy turned away from the sweeping plains, her arms wrapping around her thin waist - and froze as she noticed the soldiers that stood at attention beside the open door, their eyes transfixed upon her. Frowning, Buffy wrapped her coat tighter around her small frame as she turned away from their curious gazes and hurried to the stone stairs that led down into the quiet bustle of the village.

She needed silence, peace, and a place to hide from the world and herself until she could understand this new twist to the soap opera that was her life. A peace that was elusive as only a few steps into the village served to remind her of the differences between her and these strange people. In this village of Men she felt naked amongst people that were dressed in tattered breeches, long dresses, and heavy cloaks, their eyes forever following her movements as she tried to lose herself amongst the sloped, twisted streets. Everyone's eyes were upon her and she hated the questions that shone there along with the mild disapproval that pulled at the faces of the women and the appreciation in those of the men. Yet at every turn, she only found more people - more people watching, judging, their voices echoing in a heavy, harsh language that she didn't understand. All too soon she felt the tears building as the sobs began to shake her thin shoulders. She wanted out of this strange world and away from these strange people. She wanted to go home.

As a wave of fierce homesickness swept over her as though ready to engulf a small, flailing ship, Buffy finally found solace in the form of a small, dark row between wooden buildings. It was no shadowed graveyard, yet it was a familiar darkness that had cradled and comforted her for seven years - seven years that had seen the rise and fall of a Slayer. A darkness that had forever been her stalwart companion when all else had failed.

Staggering amongst the shadows, her legs gave out beneath her as Buffy tumbled to her knees beside a strong wall, the tears coursing down her cheeks as she fell forward, her forehead pressed against the cold ground. She wanted to go home. She wanted to hear her friends' voices lifted in laughter, to feel Giles' hand upon her own and Spike's strong arms around her shoulders, to have Xander's comforting smile lifting her spirit and Willow's sparkling eyes warming her heart, and Dawn... Dawn was so much a part of herself that she wanted nothing more than to have her little sister beside her, making her whole.

Straightening slightly, the tears continually wetting her cheeks, Buffy reached into the pocket that was sewn beside her heart and wrapped trembling fingers along the worn corners of her treasured photograph. Over the course of the past few weeks, she had found herself coming back to the picture less and less, the need to see her friends and family at least once every few minutes falling until she pulled it from her pocket only once or twice every hour... and then only a few times every day. Now she could honestly say that she didn't remember how long it had been since she had last looked upon the faces of all those that she had lost, but in that moment, the healing wound that covered her aching heart felt as though it had been ripped open, revealing the raw, ugly hole that would forever lie beneath whatever false covering it found. The pain engulfed her and it was as though she was dying again, her insides twisting as the tears blurred their beloved faces.

"I don't belong here," she whispered, her tortured words a choked gasp in a voice that she didn't recognize - one that was shrill and desperate. "I'm a Champion - one of the good guys," she continued, the words turning into a plea, as though her friends could see her pain and somehow reassure her that this couldn't really be happening, that she hadn't really been betrayed in such a cold way by the Higher Beings that she had diligently served for the past seven years. She had willingly given _seven fucking years_ to the Powers That Be, and they thought to thank her by _using_ her to bring on a new darkness for a world that was finally experiencing some measure of peace?

This... this was worse than betrayal. It went far beyond that. It felt as though she had been raped. Raped by the Powers That Be as they callously used her as their weapon; as they used her in a manner that was never meant to be.

She felt violated.

"Giles, what do I do?" she whispered, a fervent plea for some kind of deliverance from this hell that she had landed in. Oh, and what a deceptive hell it had been. From her first moment in this world she had been surrounded by beautiful, ethereal creatures that were more noble than most of the humans that she had willingly laid down her life and the lives of those she held dearest for so many years. They were kind to her and they protected her, and she them. She had fought with them, laughed with them, and traveled with them; she had befriended them, and in the end, it had all been nothing more than a deceptive mask to hide the evil that was always brewing beneath the surface. They had been the cherry on top of the sundae - a sundae that was built upon deceit, lies, and treachery.

No, that wasn't true.

The elves had always been pure and whole and wonderful.

_She_ was the disease that would slowly eat through them all.

And that was the real kicker.

She and her friends had died to stop evil, and now... now she _was_ the evil. It didn't matter that she was an unwilling evil, for in her mind, it still came down to the same thing: that by being here, she was betraying everything that she had ever stood for. By being here, in some weird, perverse way she felt as though she had somehow let down the one who had always guided her along the path she thought she had been meant to take. The one that had died for this illusive path.

Breath catching in her throat, Buffy gently rubbed her thumb over Giles' smiling face. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her tears coursing down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do," she admitted as she dropped her head forward - and then froze as a warm, gentle hand came to rest upon her shaking shoulder.

Watery eyes falling upon the familiar tall, slender shadow that the sun created from the person behind her, Buffy found herself leaning into the warm touch as she once more cast her eyes to the photograph which she cradled. "I don't belong here," she murmured, knowing that somehow Legolas would understand her words. "I'm not needed here."

"_I_ need you."

Green eyes growing wide, Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as the melodious voice cut through her overwhelming grief, her senses tingling in warning. A warning that came too late. Turning quickly, Buffy lifted her eyes to find Vashnak already moving behind her, his body falling forward and pinning her against the building as he pressed a pungent cloth over her mouth and nose. Gagging at the foul smell, Buffy felt her eyes tear as she tried to lash out against her assailant, her wildly flailing limbs landing but a few blows before her mind began to grow hazy. Confused, she slowly lifted her blurring sight - and felt her last thoughts become chilled by the cold light in Vashnak's eyes as her treasured photograph fell from her numbed fingers.

With a patience that was unusual for his kind, Vashnak held the cloth against her mouth and nose for a few minutes longer, forcing her to breathe the strong fumes of the soaked rag. The plant was not native to these parts, a weed that was most commonly found only west of the Misty Mountains - yet its properties were well known amongst his kind. The girl would be out for the better part of the day, and a few more applications each night would ensure a docile passenger for the long trip that lay ahead.

Smiling, he gently lifted her small form into his arms and moved from the shadowed alley and into the brightly lit street beyond. The _Edain_ watched him with wide, adoring eyes, mistakenly assuming him to be one of the _Eldar_ that were barely more than tales to these simple people. Elves were long welcomed and considered friend in these lands, and just as the soldiers had bowed before his black stallion when entering the Keep, they too stepped back to allow him easy passage to the open gates and the wide plains beyond.

Without so much as a backward glance, the beautiful dark-haired being clutched his precious burden to him as his great horse clattered along the stone rode and onto the grassy hills, riding back into the wilds with the strange young woman who had entered their realm in much the same manner that she now left, borne before one of the Firstborn.

Soon, both were nothing more than a memory.

* * *

Head shaking in mute dismay, Aragorn leaned back upon the plush chair that had been pulled forth from the dark shadows of the Great Hall. "I do not understand how such a thing could be possible," he murmured, more to himself than his comrades as Arwen slid her hand into his own, her long fingers twining with his as his gray eyes continually turned from one dismayed elven face to another.

"Do you know what this means?" omer asked, his face, already worn by both the fierce wind and the inevitable passage of time, looking that much older as the fine lines deepened in shock and horror at the tale that Legolas had just spun, embellished by Thoron, former advisor to King Thranduil, when he felt his liege and lord had neglected or glossed over certain parts.

"How could I not?" Aragorn returned, his voice dry as he slowly shook his head. "Everything that we've fought for, this peace that we've won with the blood of friends and brothers..." he trailed off, his eyes dimming as he thought back to the many brave souls that had given so much for this chance that they had eagerly embraced. "It would all be for naught," he continued as he turned his eyes to his fellow king. "Her blood is capable of bringing everything that we've fought for to ruin."

Stern features twisted in a dark glower, Thoron curtly nodded his agreement. "We should have killed her the moment that we laid eyes upon her," he stated, his words clipped. "Her very arrival in our world was one borne out of darkness. She is evil-"

"Nay, that is not true and you know this," Mirdan countered just as strongly, his features tightening in anger. "Thoron, she explained this. You heard her," he added, his voice imploring the advisor to listen to reason. "It was not her fault that-"

"Not her fault?" Thoron interrupted, his thin brows arching in disbelief. "Were you blind to what we just witnessed? Her blood was the catalyst in this. She was sent here to destroy us all!" he cried, his voice rising in fever and pitch as he stared down the younger elf. Yet this time, it wasn't the dark-haired elf that responded to his accusations.

"That is not so," Legolas cut in, his voice cold as he leveled a fierce glare upon his father's advisor - upon the elf that was sworn to obey _his_ commands. Yet even as Thoron evenly met his gaze, Legolas knew that his arguments would be lost on the stubborn elf, and instead he found himself turning to his oldest mortal friend, his eyes beseeching the man to listen to his words. "Aragorn, she is an innocent in all of this," he stated, his words rushed as the king sighed as though greatly wearied, Arwen's eyes never once leaving those of her husband even as he stared at the ground as though the answers to all of their questions could somehow be gleaned in the dark stone. "You saw her face! She knew naught of this - no more than any of us. She-"

"Peace, Legolas," Aragorn sighed, raising one hand in supplication as he finally lifted his head. "I never said that she intended for any of this to happen. Yet this does little to change the fact that it has." Aragorn turned from his friend, his eyes instinctively seeking out the twin silhouettes of his foster brothers. Both had been silent since Buffy's abrupt departure and their impassive faces were closed to him, offering little of their thoughts on what was being spoken. "Elladan, Elrohir - you both have traveled with her for many leagues. Tell me brothers, what make you of all of this?" he asked, his eyes imploring them to be frank.

For a long moment the silence thickened as the brothers turned to one another, their shadowed eyes carrying on a conversation that none, not even their sister, could follow. Eventually the conversation was ended as Elladan turned from his brother with a small shrug. "To be honest, Estel, I know not what to think," he admitted, his heart heavier than it had been in years.

"She is strange, of that there is no doubt," Elrohir added, his brow creasing as he thought back to the absent young woman. "Yet she has a heart as stout as any warrior and has saved our lives as many times, if not more than we have saved hers during our travels south."

"And this creature," omer cut in, his blue eyes turning from one elf to the other, "know you naught else of him?"

"Only that which Buffy herself has spoken," the younger elf continued. "She called him Vashnak, and according to her, it was once an orc."

"And after the changes that we have seen her blood bring about, I do not doubt her word on this," Elladan finished with a heavy sigh.

Shaking his head in frustration, omer rose from his seat and began pacing along the worn stone, his boots echoing loudly in the cavernous room. "But how could she have possibly known that the creature was an orc?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else as Lothriel stepped forward, her gentle hands subtly wrapping around his waist in a silent plea to stay still.

Smiling wryly, Elladan nodded knowingly at this question. "Aye, tis an odd day indeed when an elf comes to rely upon the senses of Men... and yet that is exactly what I have learned to do during our travels," he admitted, his twin nodding in confirmation. "I know naught why, yet Buffy is somehow able to sense things that others cannot. She can _sense_ the evil in creatures."

"The eyes," Legolas broke in, quietly musing to himself.

"Legolas?" Aragorn prompted, his piercing gaze turned towards his friend.

"It was the eyes," Legolas repeated, his expression thoughtful as he seemed to gaze at something just beyond Aragorn's shoulder. "Buffy once told me that you can see everything in the eyes. She said that they give you away every time," he murmured, his voice growing soft as he slowly looked to the floor - and finally admitted that which had been forefront in his mind ever since Vashnak had been revealed for what he truly was. "The Valar had sent me a warning - several, in fact - but I had ignored them all," he whispered as Aragorn abandoned his chair to stand before his longtime friend.

"What warning?"

Legolas cast his eyes away from Aragorn's piercing gaze wtih a soft frown, words once more abandoning him in this simple task. He had kept the dream so close to his heart for so many months that to talk of it now, so openly and before so many people... it was as daunting a task as any other he had faced. "I... I have been plagued by the same dream for months now," he admitted, his words forced past a restricted throat. "A dream in which a stranger appeared before me and in which the heavens began to cry tears of blood," he continued, his voice heavy. "It was this dream which brought me to Mirkwood in time to witness Buffy's arrival. And yet... it was so unclear until now," he murmured as he slowly looked to his friend.

"I know now that the person that I followed was Buffy, but then the dream shifts and I am standing on the Pelennor Fields with Minas Tirith at my back. You are beside me, as are all of our friends and allies, hundreds of soldiers prepared for battle," Legolas continued, his eyes flashing to omer and the twins before returning to Aragorn's thoughtful gaze. "Before us stretches an army of darkness while the sun and the moon are suspended upon either horizon, locking the world in gray shadows. And between us stands naught but Buffy..." he murmured, his voice trailing away as he held his friend's shuttered gaze. And yet as he felt Thoron shift beside him, Legolas suddenly found himself withholding the most damning part of the dream as he lightly shrugged his shoulders, his eyes pointedly turning away. "It is only now that I truly understand what we faced."

"An army of darkness," Thoron breathed, ignorant of his lord's dark thoughts as his blood ran cold.

Eyes wide, Elrohir curtly shook his head. "What I would not give for a bit of Mithrandir's wisdom about now," he stated, a small, wry smile causing the corners of his lips to twitch.

Nodding in agreement, omer slowly inclined his head as he thought of the truth of those simple words. "While Gandalf's wisdom was oft filled with riddles and rhymes, it was always appreciated in this Hall... well, almost always," he amended with a sad smile, memories of his fallen uncle teasing the corners of his mind. He turned his eyes back upon the small group, wondering how a short visit from Aragorn and Arwen could have taken such an abrupt turn. "So what now?" he asked, his eyes irrevocably falling upon the ranger turned king, his words serving to pull the man from his thoughts.

Sighing slightly, Aragorn focused his scattered thoughts as he once more realized how strange it was, even after all of these years, to have friends and allies turn to him for direction. Then again, he had been a king for less than a decade and a Ranger for over sixty years, worn by troubles and pursuits, but not yet burdened by the heavy mantle of rule. "I suppose that for now, if Legolas agrees, we shall return to Minas Tirith with the girl," he stated, his eyes turning to the blond elf. While Legolas admitted that he had planned on bringing Buffy to Gondor all along, the king sensed that his old friend felt too bound to this problem to be left out now. "Faramir had always been close with Gandalf," he added when the archer merely turned to look to where Buffy had disappeared much time before this. "Perhaps he will have an insight that we have missed."

"Perhaps," Legolas allowed, shrugging slightly as he turned more fully towards the doors to the Great Hall, now sealed shut against the piercing wind. "Though right now I think what is most important is finding Buffy. We must remember that this is as much a shock to her as to anyone," he stated as he stepped from the pillar he had been leaning against - only to find Mirdan and the twins standing before him.

"And we shall help you," Elrohir decided for both him and his brother as Elladan simply nodded his agreement.

"As shall I," Mirdan added as he dipped his head towards his liege. "If my Lord will permit it," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Smiling slightly, Legolas was about to give his approval when he noticed Thoron's stony face from where the tall elf slowly moved to join their group. Honor would not allow the stern advisor to remain the sole elf who would not seek out their missing companion, and yet Legolas knew that after Thoron's rather vocal insinuations of Buffy's involvement in all that had passed, his presence was the very last thing that the slayer would need right now. "Nay, my friend," he stated before Thoron had a chance to offer his aid. "Nay, I think perhaps it would be best if you and Thoron remained here with the others so that you may answer any more questions our friends may have. After all," he added, his eyes twinkling slightly as he smiled at the twins, "Noldor though they are, they will have a Wood-Elf along, and between the three of us, I am sure that we will find our wayward companion in no time at all."

Frowning, Mirdan forced a smile at the weak jest before curtly nodding his acquiescence. "I am sure you are right, my Lord," he stated, his voice falling once more into the neutral tones of his kind. "After all, how far could she have gone?"

* * *

"How far could she have gone? How far could she have gone? How far indeed!" Elladan muttered, his voice cross as his dark eyes narrowed upon the twisted streets that were laid out before them. Already the three elves had been at their search for a good quarter of an hour with little results to show for their efforts. It's not that they didn't have leads to follow, for if anything, there didn't seem to be a single citizen of Edoras that _hadn't_ seen Buffy since she had left the Golden Halls.

"The wee lass with the golden hair? Real pretty like?" an old man clarified, obviously torn between humility, awe, and pride at being address by one of the Firstborn, his awkward gait pitching him forward as his aged eyes glittered in the morning sun. "Yes, my Lord, I saw her pass by here in a right state earlier this morning. She went that way," he stated as he swept a bent arm further into the tangled nest of Edoras.

Breath hissing between clenched teeth, Legolas heard Elrohir offer a hasty thank you to the man as the trio turned and continued their elusive hunt for their missing companion, the wary and gawking Rohirrim parting before them. Feeling the weight of eyes upon him, Legolas unconsciously quickened his step, his long legs eating up the passage of rough-hewn stone and dirt-ladened track. After nine years of living in close proximity to Faramir's city of Emyn Arnen in the woods of Ithilien, and with countless visits to Minas Tirith sprinkled throughout the years of hard work amongst the withered garden of Gondor, to think that he would have become accustomed to the looks that his presence continued to garner. Dwarves and hobbits, Men could understand. But elves? It seemed as though their very nature, their beauty and grace, was something so foreign that even after countless sightings, his presence still caused the citizens to freeze before him - either that or to draw away in fear.

Frowning, Legolas paused as Elladan approached a bent old woman whose eyes seemed less troubled by their sight. Idly, he overheard their muted conversation as his sharp eyes looked past the weathered buildings and neat roads, always searching for a familiar blonde head - a search that would have been far more easy had they been in Minas Tirith where dark hair was more common. In Edoras, surrounded by the fair-haired Rohirrim, it felt as though he was searching for a single pine needle amongst a forest of the thick-boughed trees.

"Of course I remember the girl," the woman's voice rang out, strong and clear with the pride of the Rohirrim echoing in her rich tones. "The garments she wore was enough to make her quite unforgettable to me mind."

"So we have been told," Elladan sighed impatiently. "Though for now, my concern is not in what she was clothed, but rather where she went from here."

"Well that's easy enough," the woman replied, her crooked teeth flashing against the bright sun as she pointed a long finger towards a dark row that ran between two small shops. "She disappeared down there," she added as Legolas quickly moved into the dark alley, his eyes scouring the shadows until they landed upon the small photograph that lay as though forgotten amongst the usual debris.

Frown deepening, Legolas felt a wave of foreboding as he gracefully knelt and pinched the glossy object between the fingers of each hand. The picture was far more worn than the first time he had seen it, but the clear image of Buffy and her friends remained locked upon the shiny parchment, their smiles bright and carefree. While he had not seen the photograph since that first time several weeks ago, he knew how much she treasured the keepsake and often saw her hand come to rest over the pocket in which it was hidden. To find it abandoned in a dark alley...

"Do you know where she is now?" Elrohir asked, oblivious to Legolas' thoughts as the younger twin waited respectfully before the entrance to the small row, his eyes noting the dead-end before turning back to the wide street.

"Oh, long gone, I'm sure," the woman offered as she airily waved her hand before her.

"What do you mean?" Legolas demanded as he stepped from the row, the picture disappearing into an inner pocket as his eyes fell upon the older woman.

"Why the poor lass must have cried herself into a right state," the woman explained, ignorant of his mounting concern as she merely enjoyed being the center of such distinguished attention, "for she was fast asleep when she left with one of your kind earlier today."

"What?" Elladan demanded, his eyes growing wide.

"What did he look like?" Elrohir continued, even as Legolas already knew what the woman would say, his heart clenching painfully in his chest.

"Like any elf, I suppose," the woman stated with a small shrug. "To be honest, you all look about the same to me, if you'll pardon my saying. Beautiful he was, with hair like yours, but darker," she added as she gestured to the twins.

"What? But that... but that-"

"Vashnak took her," Legolas cut in, his voice hollow and devoid of emotion as he turned and looked down the winding street and to the high wooden gates that remained open to the beautiful day. From where he was standing amongst tall slanted buildings, he could see very little of the open plains that were spread beneath the towering keep - yet he didn't need to have a clear view to know that he would see naught of a dark, scurrying figure and the small passenger that he carried. "She is gone."


	18. Chapter 18

**Equinoxium: Chapter 18  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Groaning softly, Buffy felt awareness seep back into her leadened body to the pulse of her aching head. All at once she felt the press of a soft mattress beneath her, the whisper of a cold breeze against her chilled skin, and the heavy weight of cold steel against her slender wrists and ankles as the fog began to ease back from her muddied thoughts. Her eyelids felt as though they were weighed down by bags of grainy sand, pressing dark lashes against her cheeks as they locked her in her dark prison - a prison that echoed with the sounds of feet off of stone, that rattled with labored breaths, and which stank of a foulness that at once clogged her nostrils and caused her heart to begin hammering in her chest. She knew this rank smell just as surely as she recognized the harsh, guttural voices that spoke in a language that caused the fine hairs on her arms to prickle and stand on end - and with this realization came a blinding clarity that made her wish that consciousness had never come.

Breath catching in her throat, Buffy now welcomed the darkness that temporarily kept the world at bay as she strained limbs that were heavy and unresponsive, leaving her naught but her thoughts to keep her company. She remembered her abduction with a disturbing clarity, yet it was the voyage afterwards that was shrouded in hazy memory. There was much darkness and quiet with vague recollections of a dark horse, lands bathed in shadow, the river Anduin and steep cliffs that bordered the Great River, and a nauseating liquid that had been forced down her throat - a liquid that burned and burbled in her stomach, causing her body to heave uselessly against the foul drink even as it served to ease the bitter pangs of hunger. Yet none of those shrouded memories served to tell her how in the hell she was going to get herself out of this one.

Buffy forced her muscles to relax as she slowly pried her lids apart - and instantly wished she hadn't as the flickering light of nearby torches seared her blurry vision, causing her to instinctively jerk her head to the side as her lashes once more fell against her cheeks. Groaning as the pain in her head flared with this small movement, she vaguely heard the murmur of a deep voice before she sensed movement beside her, a warm, gentle hand lifting her head as a cup was pressed against her lips.

"Drink deep," the melodious voice commanded as Buffy recoiled against the touch, memories of the bitter drink flashing before her as she pursed her lips against the cool liquid that sloshed against her chapped lips. "Drink," the familiar voice repeated, the gentle tones becoming hard and demanding as fingers tangled in her long hair, causing a soft moan of pain to part her lips and allowing the liquid to flood her mouth. Yet instead of the vile drink that had been forced upon her in past hours, days or weeks, a wave of cool, fresh water cascaded down her throat, simultaneously soothing parched skin as it wrestled with the air that was reflexively drawn with the liquid, causing her numbed body to shake as she choked, her eyes flying open to see a darkened room and the impassive face of Vashnak looming above her. Coughing to clear her lungs of the water, Buffy glared at the dark-haired creature as she twisted her head from his punishing grip, only to have it fall back upon the soft mattress and roll to the side, as though it operated under a control that was separate from her own.

Grimacing at the lingering effects of whatever had been used upon her, Buffy was reminded of her mom's warnings against drug use and her promises that sampling would only lead to bad things. Oh, if only her mother knew how right she had been. Sighing softly, Buffy turned her eyes away - thankful that she could at least do that - and took in her unfamiliar surroundings. Gone was the cave floor that she had been staked to during her previous stay with orcs, and instead she found herself lying upon an ornate bed that came with its own set of heavy manacles with a short lead. The chamber itself looked as though it had been hewed from solid rock, simple in its monastic design, with only a single door and a wide balcony to interrupt the monotony.

"Where am I?" she asked, surprising herself with this relatively small achievement as her eyes locked upon the thick, heavy drapes that hid all but a sliver of glass from view - a sliver that revealed the dark of night. A part of her also wondered how long she had been held under whatever drug Vashnak had used... and yet the greater part of her feared the answer.

"Somewhere safe," the orc-turned-elf returned, his words curt as he moved into her line of sight, his black eyes locking with her own.

"Safe?" Buffy returned, the word sounding more like a shrill laugh as she pointedly closed her eyes, doing the only thing she could in order to evade his piercing gaze. "Safe for who?"

"Safe for us all," he stated, his words softening slightly as a heavy hand fell upon her shoulder.

"Well I don't need you to keep me safe!" Buffy snapped as she wearily opened her eyes. "I need you to let me go!"

Ignoring her angry retort, Vashnak smiled thinly as he stepped towards the heavy drapes, one hand pulling back the thick coverings and allowing the bright light of the moon to wash the room in his pale beams. "We will keep you safe until the end of your days and beyond. We could do no less, for you are a gift to a dying race. To my brethren, you are our Savior - our Queen."

"No," Buffy quickly stated, the word a fierce denial as she glared at Vashnak's back, now wishing that she could meet his gaze if for no other reason then to make him turn away beneath the weight of her anger. "No, what I am is the person that's going to-" she began, her threat forgotten as she heard the door behind Vashnak swing open, her already frazzled senses singing their warnings as three lumbering orcs limped into view in their awkward gait, their black eyes flickering towards her. Instinctively, the slayer found herself recoiling as much as her leadened body would allow, everything within her desperately seeking to draw away from something that was so foul and so _wrong_. It didn't matter how many times she encountered orcs in this world, for each time she was reminded that they were a race that was created out of pain, torture, and darkness - some evil bastard twisting a few poor souls that had once been pure and perfect so that it created something that was altogether the opposite of everything that was an elf... and now her blood was somehow working to fix that evil act in the most vile of ways.

"You have nothing to fear," Vashnak stated, his words soft as he mistakenly attributed her drawn features to fear of the three orcs that clambered before her. "They will not harm you," he assured as he returned to her bedside, the orcs lingering beside him. "To them, you have become even greater than the Master himself, someone to be cared for and revered, for while He brought only suffering and pain, you bring the promise of so much more. Just as He was our Father, you are now our Mother - the giver of life," he explained as he slipped a small dagger from the sheath at his waist before settling his lithe frame on the bed beside her, the mattress barely registering his weight - even as a heavier weight locked her protests within her aching heart.

What could she say to such a thing? What argument could she possibly use against this creature that _her_ blood had restored? For the moment, Buffy found that there were no words that could possibly express anything. She was numb, and could only stare stupidly as Vashnak gently lifted one of her arms and stretched it towards the waiting orcs. Blinking slowly, she felt detached from this surreal moment - more an audience member than a participant as she watched an arm that surely could not have been her own, be held over the edge of the bed, an orc moving forward to hold a simple goblet beneath. Yet that fantasy of detachment was stolen from her as Buffy was reminded of her role in this twisted play as Vashnak drew the knife across tanned flesh, slicing deep into the wrist and causing a wave of fiery pain to burn down her heavy arm.

Breath choked in lungs that couldn't seem to draw breath, Buffy watched in fascinated horror as deep red blood pooled within the long cut and then spilled over, staining her skin as it streamed down the sides of her wrist until the twin trails met beneath, bonding as one until a large, fat drop of blood fell free and tumbled down into the waiting cup. For a moment, Buffy thought to open her mouth - to protest that which she couldn't prevent - only to fall silent as Vashnak's long fingers gently pushed against the sensitive skin around the wound, massaging her arm and causing the drip to transform into a steady stream of blood. Of _her_ blood.

"The chains are merely a precautionary for the time being," Vashnak stated, interrupting Buffy's horrified thoughts as the blood slowly filled the cup. "The drug's effects will wear off in a few hours, and provided that you behave, the chains will be removed and you will be permitted the freedom of movement about this room. If you do not, the chains will be returned," he explained as he paused in his ministrations as the blood reached the rim of the cup. Turning, he accepted a clean bandage from one of the orcs and used it to tightly bind the bleeding wrist - watching as blood instantly began to soak the white linen.

"Just think of it," he murmured, his eyes narrowing upon this small stain of crimson as the other orcs bowed before backing from the room, the goblet held as though a priceless treasure before them. "We will take only one goblet of your blood each day. One goblet that will be enough to restore twenty orcs to the forms that they were always meant to have. Twenty orcs saved because of your blood... you are a gift," he repeated, finally lifting his eyes from the bandaged wound to find her eyes locked upon him. "You are a gift from the spirits of Morgoth and Sauron himself."

"No," Buffy denied as she forced her lips to move, not wanting to hear another word out of her captor's mouth as he praised the darkness that she had unwittingly carried to this world in the very blood that flooded her veins. "No, apparently I'm a gift from the Powers, the _bastards_," she gritted as her helplessness quickly transformed into a burning anger that was once more directed at the higher powers that had stranded her on this world.

"I do not under-"

"Of course you don't," Buffy snapped, feeling her anger gather fire as it became redirected towards the beautiful, dark-haired creature that sat beside her. "And you never will, either!" she spit, her face twisting into a mask of rage borne of betrayal. "You'll never understand because while you may look like an elf on the outside, we both know that my blood hasn't done a damn bit to change what's on the inside," she hissed, her eyes narrowing disdainfully upon him. "Your skin doesn't glow with their light and your eyes are about as shiny as coal!" she continued, watching as anger caused Vashnak's face to whiten, fine lines creasing his forehead as his lips became narrow and bloodless. "You're still twisted, you're still ugly, and you're still something that was never supposed to be!" she added, green eyes following his hand as it slowly raised as though he was preparing to backhand her for her words. Smiling grimly - a smile that felt twisted and hideous upon her face - Buffy watched this raised hand as she added the final stroke to her angry tirade, welcoming the pain and distraction the blow would bring.

"I was born to destroy things like you."

For a moment, Vashnak visibly teetered on the sharp edges of his anger before he slowly lowered his raised hand. "No," he returned, his voice soft and calm in the face of her rage. "No," he repeated as an indifferent mask slipped over his features - a mask that was so startlingly, eerily similar to that of her elven companions, that Buffy couldn't help but try and force her heavy body to recoil from this contradiction in appearance and nature that sat beside her. "No, you were born to _create_ us," he murmured, watching as her anger dissolved like the brave front that it was, visibly crumbling until nothing remained but the trembling, vulnerable young woman that was helpless to prevent this horrid twist of fate from further spinning out of control. "Thanks to you, we will become everything that we were always meant to be. Buffy-"

"Don't," Buffy stammered, hating the tears that burned at the corners of her eyes. "Don't you dare say my name," she warned in a voice that trembled with the fear that Vashnak spoke the truth - that her many victories and defeats were always meant to lead her to this one horrible moment.

Black eyes flashing, Vashnak stared down at her stony features and slowly reached one hand forward - only to watch as Buffy's head forcibly lolled to the side in an obvious evasion of his touch. Pale features tightening, he reached out and seized her chin in a painful grip and forcefully turned her head towards him, refusing to allow her to look away. "You think of them - of the elves that traveled with you," he guessed as her eyes stubbornly avoided his own. "Well it matters not," he stated dismissively as he released his hold, her head falling limply to the side. "Do you think that they would want you now, knowing of the darkness that is inside you?"

"It's not darkness," Buffy bit back, at once angry with herself for continually rising to Vashnak's bait. But his words carried whispers of truth that she couldn't ignore, and if she didn't refute them out loud, she half-feared that the words would slither inside her, polluting and poisoning that which she had always believed... what she needed to believe in order to survive. To think that just a few short weeks ago she had been willing to kill herself without hesitation if it only meant that she could make things right again for her world. In a strange, twisted way, things had been much simpler then - more black and white. She was Good. The First Evil was Bad. If she needed to die to save the world, she would do it in a heartbeat because that's what it meant to be one of the good guys. But now? Now she didn't know where she stood. "It's not darkness," Buffy repeated, more to herself than Vashnak as she once more turned her eyes away. "I just..."

"Why does this so surprise you?" he asked, startling Buffy as she heard no malice in Vashnak's voice - only an honest curiosity as the orc-turned-elf regarded her with his piercing black eyes. "Has your blood never before been coveted for its power? Has it never healed another?"

As a true sign to her confusion, Buffy actually considered these questions as she quietly turned her eyes to the dark night that lay swathed in shadows beyond the parted curtains. Coveted for power? According to Spike, a slayer's blood was an extra special treat for a vampire. But coveted? Used to heal another? The idea was ludicrous... and yet was it? Offhand, she could only think of three different times when her blood had been tasted by another, and while nothing remarkable came about when Dracula had a taste, the first two...

The Master needed her blood in order to escape his prison and enter the world, and Angel... Angel needed the blood of a Slayer to survive the poison that coursed through his body. He had needed her blood to heal the damage that had been wrought and to cure him- and why in the hell had they never questioned this before? When she had been Called as the Slayer, she had learned firsthand about how quickly her body healed from the many different mishaps that were all apart of the Slayer package - and not once had she ever wondered where the healing mojo came from. She always thought it was just another part of the slayer package.

_"One of the perks of being the Slayer is a speedier rehab for the bumps, bruises, and severed limbs that are pretty much unavoidable in my line of work."_

How could she have ever guessed that her slayer healing could be attributed to something specific? To something concrete and something that _could_ be coveted? Something that _could_ be sought after? Well now she knew. It was her blood that made her shrug off broken ribs and internal bleeding as though nothing more than a scratch and a bloody nose - and the longer that she was the slayer, the more potent her blood became. There used to be a time when a stab wound would leave her incapacitated for days. Now a mangled chest of broken ribs would only slow her. There used to be a time when sickness would keep her bed-ridden, or even worse, send her to the hospital. Now she couldn't even remember the last time she had a runny nose. And now her blood was becoming so potent that a mouthful was enough to undo a millenniums' worth of torture and abuse that had been done to Vashnak's ancestors. Hell, they might as well call her Fawkes or stick a Johnson and Johnson label on her forehead. The only difference was, unlike Harry Potter's mystical phoenix, she didn't need to cry in order to heal these bastards - she needed to bleed - and even if her time here in Middle-earth seemed to indicate otherwise, needing her tears would have been a lot more difficult than her blood. As it was, they could just stick a fork in her, turn her over and call her done because while she could have stopped herself from crying if it meant saving the world - or even saving what was left of her shredded pride - it wasn't as though she could really stop herself from bleeding. Even a paper-cut could spell doom for all of Middle-earth.

"The blood of a slayer... it... it heals," she muttered, unaware that she had spoken the words aloud until a soft hand was pressed against her cheek, once more drawing her waning attention back to the creature that sat beside her.

"And heal you have," Vashnak murmured before standing and disappearing from sight, the soft snick of a closing door echoing with the finality of his words.

For a moment, Buffy allowed the empty quiet to envelop her racing thoughts as she sagged back against the soft mattress, her lax muscles twitching beneath the heavy remnants of the drug that had been used upon her. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the thought that her life had been building to this moment when she could be harvested for her blood. In the end, neither seemed fitting as she decided that she had cried enough tears to last her a lifetime and that her situation hardly warranted a chuckle or two. It didn't take a degree in medicine to tell her that no matter how well she was treated, there was no way her body could compensate for losing that much blood each day - slayer or not. There was a reason that the Red Cross only let you donate once every two or three months, and even if she never really paid attention to the reasons before, she was pretty positive that in the end, it meant that all of her hard work and sacrifices for the last seven years had bought her nothing more than a very slow and meaningless death. Meaningless if you ignored the fact that in the meantime, she was going to supply the fuel to build an army of darkness.

"This sucks."

* * *

Six days had come and gone since the morning that Buffy had disappeared. Six days of fruitless searches that had always come up empty, her whereabouts continually unknown. Six days that should have passed as though a blink of an eye to one of the Firstborn, and yet six days that seemed to drag by slower than the passing of six decades to the fair-haired Elf that returned to Edoras with defeat pressing heavily upon his shoulders.

In the woods, it was nigh on impossible for a Wood Elf to lose a trail, yet amongst the empty plains of Rohan, Legolas was once more forced to turn to the experienced eyes of his friend as Aragorn guided their party across the vast plains - and back again - and back once more. Between he and Aragorn, they had once been able to track a band of Uruk-hai and their Hobbit prisoners for leagues over these same plains, and yet the task of tracking Vashnak and Buffy was proving fruitless. No, the task of even finding the correct trail to follow was not only fruitless, but impossible. This time they weren't following the heavy tread of orcs upon the fields of Rohan. This time they were tasked to follow the tracks of the great black stallion that witnesses had associated with the dark elf.

Yes, they were supposed to track one horse in the land of Horse-Lords - a grassy country where the number of horses most likely surpassed the number of people, and where the heavy print of hoof marks riddled the plains.

It had taken them six days to admit defeat. Six days of wandering the plains of Rohan with Aragorn, the twins, Mirdan and Thoron, Aragorn's small contingent of Gondorian guards, as well as omer and a full complement of Rohirrim soldiers, desperately searching for that one fateful trail before finally admitting that by now, Vashnak could be nearing the borders of Mordor for all they knew, or perhaps safely encased in the lower reaches of Mirkwood, or hidden deep within a cave in the White or Misty Mountains. He could be anywhere, which meant that Buffy could be anywhere.

To Aragorn and omer, and to the men of Gondor and Rohan, this defeat meant that a dangerous weapon had fallen into enemy hands. To his companions, this defeat meant that and so much more. It meant that their companion had fallen and was in danger - and that they were powerless to help. To Legolas... to Legolas it meant that Buffy was once more back in that bloodied clearing, bound and beaten before her captors... and even worse, this time she was alone.

_"Man prestidh den?"_

Legolas turned from his dark thoughts to find that Aragorn had maneuvered his magnificent black horse until it cantered softly beside him, the steed's proud head held high with the setting sun glistening off of his dark mane. "Need you truly ask what is troubling me?" the archer asked, his eyes briefly meeting those of his friend before he turned to the towering wooden gate of Edoras that was slowly opening before them.

"No, _mellon-nin_," Aragorn sighed as he brushed a tired hand over his whiskered cheeks. "No, I suppose I need not," he admitted as he cast his gaze to the proud green banners of Rohan and the waving standards of Gondor, flapping angrily in the sharp wind. "It is never easy to admit defeat - especially when the stakes are so high," he whispered as his horse followed the other steeds through the twisted streets of Edoras, climbing ever higher towards the Golden Hall of Meduseld. "And yet there was nothing more that we could have done," he reasoned, more to himself than his quiet companion. "I fear that she is lost to us - perhaps to this world as well. If it is her blood that they want, we may have already been too late within hours of her abduction. For now we must look to ourselves and make the necessary preparations for what is to come."

"You mean to return to Minas Tirith, then?" Legolas asked, his face betraying little of the hurt and betrayal that surged through him at Aragorn's callous words. Of course, he reasoned, it would be difficult for his friend to see the innocent person that was being destroyed in this. He had a kingdom to think of - and a war to prepare for.

"Of course," Aragorn returned, his silver-gray eyes narrowing upon his friend. "And I thought that you would be returning to your colony in Ithilien, as well," he added, half-conscious of the fact that they had reached the steps to Meduseld and of the stable hand that stood at attention beside him, ready to see to his horse's needs. "After all, if not even you or Elladan nor Elrohir were able to see this creature for what he was, how do you expect your people to fare? They need to be warned-"

"And they shall," Legolas interrupted, his voice becoming curt as he lithely slid from Drlum's high back, his steely blue eyes locking his friend within their stony glare. "Once we return to Minas Tirith, I will send Thoron and Mirdan on with warning to the colony."

"But Legolas, you are their lord and-"

"And I will serve my people best not by hiding in Ithilien," Legolas snapped as he began to turn from his friend, intent on following the others into the Golden Hall and escaping this madness - only to have a familiar, heavy hand fall upon his shoulder, impeding his progress and forcing him to turn and face the damage that he had wrought with his harsh words.

"Legolas-"

Legolas wearily shook his head, stilling his friend's concerned words as he once more reached for the tattered edges of his Elvish stoicism. "Nay Aragorn - not now," he pleaded as he forced himself to meet the king's wizened gaze, and recoiled at the hurt that shone in those gray depths. "I am sorry, _mellon-nin_, but I know not what else to do," he admitted with a helpless shrug as he turned his eyes to the empty plains that were visible below the sloping hill, opening in a stunning panoramic view that was backlit by the warm glow of the setting sun. "I understand the price that can be paid with the spilling of her blood, and yet it is not so simple for me. In my eyes she is more than a tool to be used, for I have laughed with her and I have bled with her. And now I have lost her, just as we had lost Merry and Pippin so many years ago."

"Yes, but Merry and Pippin did not stay lost forever," Aragorn offered as he gently squeezed Legolas' shoulders, trying in vain to take back his careless words as he offered his friend what little he could. "Perhaps I am wrong and Iluvatar has something different in mind for her."

"Perhaps," Legolas allowed, his searching gaze returning to his friend's face with a small, sad smile. "Regardless, I do not think I will best offer whatever help I can from the trees of Ithilien. No. I will return with you and Arwen to Minas Tirith."

"What's this I hear? A Wood-Elf choosing a city of stone over a forest? Perhaps there is hope for your kind, yet."

Smiling softly, Legolas turned to find a familiar short, stocky dwarf descending the stone stairs of Meduseld, the setting sun causing his red beard to shimmer with fiery light. "Gimli, my friend, what brings you to Edoras?"

"A letter from the lovely Lothriel bade me to make all haste in coming to these Golden Halls," the stout dwarf returned with a small smile, his dark eyes glittering warmly as he gripped Legolas' arms in greeting before turning to Aragorn. "Thus you can imagine my surprise when I arrive to find naught but two queens of unmatched beauty and a city devoid of their kings and lords. Four days have passed since and I began to wonder if you two would ever return," he added as he slapped his hand against their shoulders, watching in amusement as both Man and Elf staggered beneath the twin blows.

"Our apologies, Master Dwarf, for making you wait so," Aragorn returned, a bit of sparkle returning to his gray eyes at the unending joviality of the stout creature.

"Apology accepted," Gimli immediately returned as he winked slyly at his elven friend, "though you mistake my meaning if you think that a true complaint can be filed when one is left stranded amongst such gentle company. Truly Aragorn, your wife is a delight and very easy on the eyes - for an elf, that is," he amended with a pointed look in Legolas' direction - only to have his good humor falter beneath the weak smile that he earned from his dearest friend. Sighing, the dwarf took the route of all of his kind and quickly got to the heart of the matter. "I take it, then, that you didn't find the lass," he stated as he looked from one heavy face to another, working off of the limited information that both Arwen and Lothriel had been able to provide.

"No, Gimli, we did not," Aragorn sighed as he, too, looked to their elven companion as the archer turned to the setting sun. "No, we did not."

"Hrumph," Gimli muttered as he eyed his quiet friend, his small eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Then how long until we leave?" he asked, not really surprising Man nor Elf with his words.

"Then you will travel with us, _elvellon_," Legolas surmised as he finally turned from the setting sun, a small, thankful smile lifting his lips.

"If that white demon of yours will bear my weight, of course I shall," Gimli returned, missing the pained expression that flashed lightening quick in the elf's eyes at the mention of his beloved horse, now forever resting in the forests of Mirkwood. "After all, I fear that you shall have need of the level-headed thoughts of a Dwarf in the coming days - someone to counter a creature with such flighty tendencies," he goaded with a wide smile as he clapped the tall Elf on the back. "Besides, you both have already seen what happens when you go hunting without the eyes of a Dwarf," he added as he nudged the tall Man beside him, "for everyone knows that without me, the two of you would have been lost upon the fields of Rohan years ago - and then where would Merry and Pippin be?"

"My guess would be fat and content, no matter where they rested," Aragorn returned with a dry chuckle as he turned and led his friends up the stone steps to the Great Hall. "You need not fear for their sakes, my friend, for I guarantee that those two are capable of being no less."

Smiling at the light-hearted exchange, Legolas trailed after his friends, half-listening to their words even as his thoughts remained locked on the one whose fate was swathed in uncertainty. She should have been there to meet Gimli, for he had a feeling that the two would have gotten on quite well. Even Aragorn, having been raised amongst Elves, would have greeted her far differently than the others of her kind that she had met during their travels... had he only had a chance.

Smile slipping ever so slowly from his fair features, Legolas paused at the highest step and once more cast his sharp gaze upon the dying day. "_Dartho ah nin, mellon-nin_," he murmured, his soft voice whispering the Elvish words to the quiet world. "Stay with me, my friend," he repeated before turning and following his friends into the shadowed Hall.

* * *

"I wanna get you in the backseat, windows up, that's the way you like to... _fuck_," Buffy cursed, pausing mid-cadence as her trembling fingers fumbled the small metal shard, causing it to tumble to the stone floor. Sighing wearily, the petite slayer slowly bent her tired body and groped along the shadowed crevices until she reclaimed her prize. "What about in the candy store, that chocolate chocolate make it melt," she continued, the lyrics sounding somewhat flat and distant to her hazy mind as she jabbed the sliver back into the sturdy lock that adorned the tall, floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led out onto the shadowed balcony - the balcony that seemed determinedly out of reach. "Whips and chains, handcuffs, smack a little bootie up with my... _damnit_!" she cursed again as her fingers cramped and seized in a painful spasm that once more dropped the small sliver into the shadows.

Sighing dejectedly, Buffy scowled at the stubborn lock before turning away, abandoning what was most likely a fruitless endeavor, and moved as though in a trance to the large bed that was covered in tousled sheets and blankets. Time passed in a strange monotony in her new prison, days creeping into nights and back into days again with little fanfare, and only the brightly shining sun and moon to mark the inevitable and steady creep of time. Days had passed - perhaps weeks - with nothing to show except for the slow weakening of her body and the wounded wrist that barely had time to heal before it would be sliced open again. The time had been slow and torturous, allowing far too much opportunity to dwell upon dark thoughts and not nearly enough to show the creatures what a slayer was truly capable of - especially a captive slayer, which had always seemed a contradiction in terms alone. At least... before it always had. These days, Buffy seemed to be _someone's_ captive more often than not.

Falling back upon the soft mattress, limbs strewn haphazardly in every direction, Buffy cast her gaze upon the stone ceiling that shifted with the flickering light of the torches. The first time that her chains had been removed, three orcs had died by her hand - including one that had only recently recovered from the painful transformation that the she-orc had undergone. That, of course, had meant the return of the chains for another interminable period of time. The next time the chains went off, two of the newly changed creatures had met their rather gruesome end. What followed then was an even longer, grimmer time of chains and total incapacity. But now? Now the chains had been off for the majority of this night that seemed to have no end, and not a single orc was dead.

She told herself that the only reason that they lived was because her time in chains had taught her a valuable lesson in patience and in waiting for the opportune moment, and while that seemed like a valid enough reason, another part of her that she obstinately refused to acknowledge, continued to whisper that perhaps the reason for her reluctance was due more to the fact that her body was getting weaker by the day. She felt light-headed and dizzy when she stood, she became short of breath from the short trek from the bed to the window, and she was beginning to find it more and more difficult to concentrate on anything for long - and none of these symptoms pointed to particularly good things. She wasn't blind to these changes - she simply had decided upon ignorance over the despair that acknowledgement would bring.

Not that despair had been a completely foreign feeling these last few... well, however long it had been. She was a Slayer that was born to combat the darkness that shadowed the edges of her world - a warrior that could have kicked Xena's butt if given half the chance, and yet here she was, helpless prisoner and damsel in distress to a group of nasties that were using her blood to create an army. Oh yeah - this had to be a high point in the history of the Slayer.

As metal grated against metal, Buffy was up and moving away from the bed even as the key finished its turn in the rusted lock, forcing her heavy body to heed her instinctive commands as she threw herself across the room. Behind her the large door swung open to allow Vashnak, one orc, and three EBIDs, as she had dubbed them, to step into the room. The EBID acronym, otherwise known as Evil Bastards In Disguise, was the result of one long night that never seemed to end - much like this night. It had been disturbing to associate the evil creatures with the kind elves which whom she had traveled for what had once seemed like a long period of time, and seeing as how the creatures weren't orcs anymore, and since she refused to think of them as Elves, the EBID species had been born. Not that she had been quick to offer that information to Vashnak or his cronies.

Frowning, Buffy lifted her chin and glared defiantly at the small entourage, even as she unconsciously pressed her back against the heavy curtains on the far wall, her arms crossed defensively across her chest with her injured wrist tucked securely against the soft folds of her leather halter - a halter that she was sure was beginning to smell a little rank by now, seeing as how she hadn't had a real bath in Valar only knew _how_ long.

Freezing at that small slip, Buffy felt her cold mask shift as her scattered thoughts became distracted by memories of Legolas, Mirdan, and the Twins. It truly felt like ages since she had seen them last, and for all she knew, it could have been. It was funny, actually, for at the time, Buffy thought that her travels with the elves seemed to drag on forever. But now? Now she couldn't help but feel as though that relatively peaceful time had been but a passing dream in comparison to this unending nightmare. The faces of her new friends that had once been so clear in her memories were now beginning to blur and fade, only to be replaced by those that her blood had created. Was it just her or did the two male EBIDs that seemed attached to Vashnak's hips resemble the twin sons of Elrond? Someone had once told her that there truly was no such thing as black hair - merely hair that was so dark brown that it appeared black - but wasn't Elrohir and Elladan's hair a close match to their shining ebony? And were their faces that pale and their eyes that black? Did they glitter like those of Dergu and Guol? And the she-EBID that seemed to have taken on the role of her care-taker... if you got rid of the small breasts, softened her pointed features, flattened her curves and added on a few inches, couldn't Sugha have been mistaken for Mirdan? And what of Vashnak himself? Didn't he pay a close resemblance to Thoron?

In the end, Legolas' fair features were the only ones that remained clear and unpolluted in her mind. Whether this was because there was no mistaking his pale golden locks for the dark ebony that seemed inherent in the EBIDs, or whether it was because of the long night they had spent as companions in an orc encampment, she couldn't say for certain. The only thing that mattered was that when she became most confused, she always had that one shining image to hold onto - that one shining image that remained clear as she fought to keep from breaking beneath the oppressive weight that thickened the very air she breathed.

"I told you to rest," Sugha snapped, her melodious voice strained by the harsh edge that lined her words as she strode angrily towards the slayer. Her dark eyes snapping in ire, the tall EBID roughly seized Buffy's arm and began dragging her back towards the bed.

"And I told you to shove it," the slayer retorted, somewhat woodenly as she forced her scattered thoughts to find a hazy focus as she twisted her arm from the EBID's pincer-like grip, desperately searching for that remaining flicker of her usual fire and fanning it to life.

"Use that tone with me again and I will _make_ you rest!" Sugha warned, a slow, delicious smile curving her thin lips.

"Touch me again and I'll return the favor!" Buffy returned, her eyes narrowed upon the dark-haired female that towered over her increasingly waif-like frame as she felt her muscles coil, bracing herself for the blow that she knew would come. The EBIDs may have carried the faces and wore the bodies of the elves that their ancestors had once been, but whatever lurked inside hadn't been touched by her blood. The changes hadn't gone that deep and the creatures were just as violent, angry, and evil as ever - only smarter.

And that was were Vashnak had been wrong.

These creatures didn't revere her for who she was. They didn't treat her as their Goddess or their Mother - or maybe they did if orcs generally wanted to maim, torture, and kill the one that birthed them, which was an entirely real possibility. What they did revere was her blood and her blood alone. The person that carried her blood, the one with thoughts, feelings, and one hell of a mouth, was just the baggage to endure as they tapped her like a keg and slowly drained her dry. She was property and nothing more - and that thought never failed to trigger her already short temper.

Ducking beneath Sugha's coiled fist with far less speed and grace than anticipated, Buffy nonetheless swiveled to the side, teetered a moment before regaining her waning balance, and then decided against a kick that would most likely have toppled her completely and retaliated with her own punch - a punch that had all of her strength and weight behind it. Which of course made it all the worse when Sugha effortlessly caught her fist in her open palm and then easily shoved Buffy so that her back collided with the sturdy glass which shook against its wooden frame. Grunting as the wind was knocked from her lungs, Buffy slid bonelessly against the thick glass, her legs folding beneath her as she collapsed upon the cold stone floor.

And in that moment, Buffy felt as though she had truly hit rock bottom.

Wide green eyes staring blankly at the ground before her, she felt her mind begin to spin as the despair rose within her until she was drowning in the murky depths.

She couldn't fight this.

She was a Slayer and she couldn't fight this.

Her body was tired and her spirit was exhausted - and her heart... her already battered heart was slowly cracking and crumbling into shattered fragments. The tape was slipping and the pieces that she had carefully patched back together were falling loose. There was nothing to hang on to here - no hope bright enough to keep her steady. All that was left was anger and despair, and even the anger wasn't enough to sustain the will within her. When she had battled against Angelus all those many years ago, he had slowly stripped away everything that mattered, but in the end, she had had herself and that was enough, but now her body was betraying her, and not even her strength remained.

Vaguely, Buffy was aware of her tormentors turning from her, dismissing her for the non-threat that she posed as they began to gather the implements for another blood-letting. It didn't matter to them if her spirit was broken. They didn't care if the fire was forever dampened. All that mattered was her blood, for that was all that she had to offer to this strange world. The blood that would strengthen their ranks and cause their darkness to encroach on the natural beauty of this place of dark forests, wide rivers, fading trees, and wide plains. They would use her to destroy... and suddenly, with nothing else to sustain her, Buffy at least knew one thing:

She wouldn't bleed for them again.

Even as Dergu and Guol reached for her, Buffy's small fingers found the metal sliver that she had lost here in these shadows - the piece that was half as long as her pinkie finger now enclosed in her fist as she was hauled to her feet and propelled towards the hated bed. There she was dumped, her body slung forward across the mattress which sagged beneath her slight weight with her closed fist pressed between her breast and the tangled sheets beneath her, her wounded wrist lying limply beside her.

The sliver was small and blunt, something that she never would have considered a weapon in days past, but it was all she had and as Sugha's hands closed around her wounded wrist and began dragging it towards the edge of the bed, Buffy knew that it would be enough.

Before the dagger had a chance to reopen the closed wound on her wrist, Buffy forced the closed fist open, arching her back slightly to allow her shaking fingers to seize the sliver between forefinger and thumb before she tore her arm free of her own heavy weight. Then, with dry eyes and without a single word, plea, or final goodbye, the slayer jabbed the blunt end towards the thrumming artery in her neck with the remnants of her faded strength - only to have her hand wrenched away, caught in the tight grip of another before her throat could be sliced and her life painfully and messily ended in the only way she knew how.

Breath catching in her throat, Buffy felt a sob choke her as the tears finally came, burning her wide eyes as the sliver was wrenched from her palm by a warm touch that was becoming all too familiar. "No," she whispered, the word a choked plea - a denial that this, too, could be taken from her as she recoiled from Vashnak's touch, twisting her body on the bed as she jerked her hand free from Sugha's hold, rolling onto her back with her wounded arm twisting beneath her. "No," she repeated, the word coming as a hitching sob as tears streamed down her face, wetting her tangled hair and soaking the blankets beneath her.

But her captors weren't to be denied and even as her words began to fall faster, the chains were brought forward, imprisoning her for the last time as her brain began to shut down. All that existed was her shaking body, her hitching breaths, and the wrist that was forced over the side of the bed by cruel hands - and the knife that was lowered towards the pale flesh. Soon, no reason remained and as the knife cut through flesh, the words were transformed into screams and Buffy fell into madness.


	19. Chapter 19

**Equinoxium: Chapter 19  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. In addition, nods must be given to Sarah McLachlan, Enya, LoTR, Linkin' Park, Evanescence, any many great BtVS episodes for inspiration and amazing quotes that will be seen in this chapter. They all gave me the nod in the right dark direction.

* * *

**_"nen i-Estel Edain; -chein estel anim: I gave Hope to the Dnedain; I have kept no hope for myself."  
LoTR: Appendix A - Gilraen's linnod to Aragorn_**

The night was dark and heavy, the shadows thick and monstrous as they twisted away from the flicker of mounted torches, the light crawling over her pale skin and illuminating the golden mass of hair that shone dully beneath her listless head. She was alone again - alone with her demons and her madness - bound by chains and a weakness that was so prevalent that she could do no more than lie limply upon the soft mattress, her breaths soft and shallow as invisible breezes picked at the gauzy shift that had replaced her leathers long ago.

An age had passed. An age in which the madness kept her sanity buried beneath half-remembered dreams and blossoming nightmares, blind to the creatures that took her blood, bathed her body, and forced her to drink their poisons and eat their foods in a laughable effort to keep her failing body strong. Laughable in that no matter how much food they made her eat, it could never compensate for that which they coveted.

"The winter here is cold... and bitter... it's chilled us to the bone," Buffy whispered, the fragments of a song, half-remembered and half-forgotten, flitting through her thoughts. "We haven't seen the sun for weeks... too long, too far from home. I feel just like I'm sinking... and I claw for solid ground.... I'm pulled down by the undertow.... I never thought I could feel so low... oh Darkness, I feel like letting go."

"You're giving up?"

Sighing, Buffy slowly turned her head to find Andrew standing forlornly beside her bed, his large eyes filled with so much hurt and betrayal.

"You said we could all get through this."

"I made it up," Buffy admitted, knowing the role that she should play. It was a role that she had played many a time before, and one that she would play many a time after this as she relived the past and fought her future. It was the role that she had been handed, and one that she could no longer refuse. "I'm making it all up," she sighed, tears burning her eyes - surprising herself that there were still more tears to cry. "What kind of hero does that make me?" she asked, her eyes beseeching this phantom to somehow give her the guidance that she needed. But Andrew didn't hold the answers. He never did. None of her phantoms of madness ever knew anything that she didn't already know.

"This isn't some story where Good triumphs because Good triumphs," she stated, her head rolling listlessly to the side. "Good people are going to die... we're all going to die," she amended with a soft, sad sigh. "But you already knew that," Buffy whispered as she slowly turned back to Andrew's still form. "You all know this," she added as she took in the spattering of Potentials that lounged sullenly on the stone floor, their arms crossed over their chests as they pouted, glared, and ultimately blamed her for their possible fate. "You all know this because that's the reward for being human... big dessert at the end of the meal."

"But me and B - we're different."

Eyes falling shut, Buffy weakly agreed to this statement as she felt Faith's warmth as the dark-haired slayer settled on the mattress beside her. Or at least, she imagined that she could feel this phantom's warmth. To be honest, she didn't know what to trust anymore. Her body was failing her. Her senses were failing her. And her heart? Her heart had failed her long before this.

"This whole thing is about death," Faith continued, her voice casual. "Death is what a slayer breathes and what she dreams about when she sleeps. Death is what a slayer lives. My death could make you the next slayer."

"Look, I wish this could be a democracy. I really do," Buffy added as she turned stern eyes towards the Potentials that composed their army. "But democracies don't win battles. It's a hard truth, but there has to be a single voice," she continued, her voice growing firm, finding strength in this false fantasy. "You need someone to lead you."

"And it's automatically you."

Momentarily thrown off balance, Buffy paused mid-speech as she twisted her head on the soft mattress, her green eyes falling upon Anya's unmistakable form as the ex-demon lounged against the wall opposite the mammoth bed. "Yes, I-"

"You really do think you're better than we are," Anya broke in, her pretty features hard and unforgiving as the rest of the room faded away, leaving her with the bitter young woman. "But we don't know. We don't know if you're actually better," Anya continued as she pushed away from the wall and strode closer to the bed. "I mean, you came into the world with certain advantages, sure. That's the legacy. But you didn't earn it," she stated, her eyes flashing. "You didn't work for it. You've never had anybody come up to you and say you deserve these things more than anyone else. They were just handed to you. So that doesn't make you better than us. It makes you _luckier_ than us."

"Luckier?" Buffy broke in incredulously as she weakly lifted her head from the mattress, her wide eyes locked on the ex-demon. "You call this luckier?" she demanded as she pointedly struggled against the heavy chains that bound her. "Anya, we don't know how to fight it. We don't even know when it'll come!" she struck back, wanting to make the slender brunette hurt as badly as she was hurting - striking her in the only way that she knew how. "We can't run, can't hide, can't pretend it's not the end, 'cause it is. Something's always been there to try and destroy the world and we've beaten them back. But we're not dealing with them anymore. We're dealing with the reason they exist. Evil. The strongest. The First-" she broke off, her features creasing in confusion. "No... that's not right. Not the First. We're... we're dealing with something worse. We're dealing with... we're dealing with me," Buffy admitted, faltering as the confusion filled her until she thought she would burst.

"Where once was life, now darkness falls," a haunting voice sang, echoing off the cold stone.

"No!" Buffy broke in, her loud cry vibrating off of the walls as she tried to turn from this latest phantom - this one that she hated most of all.

"Where once was love, love is no more."

"Not you. Not you!" she hissed as she glared at the small, twisted being that her imagination had created. Legolas had told her of the creature known as Gollum; the creature whose life had become so bent by a passion that he couldn't control. She had never met this creature as it had died in the fires of Mount Doom nine years before her arrival in Middle-earth, and yet her madness had taken this tale and had breathed life into his body once more.

"These tears we cry are falling rain. And we will weep to be so alone."

"I don't know you. I don't know you!" Buffy cried, refusing to acknowledge the bent creature that scuttled around her bed.

"We are lost. We can never go home."

Yet no matter how much she refused to heed this creature's words, each one fell as though another knife that was bent on piercing her flesh... on drawing her blood.

"And you will weep when you face the end alone."

"Too late. The end has already come and gone... I've no more tears to cry," Buffy whispered as she finally opened her eyes to find the small creature perched on the bed beside her, its large eyes locked upon her own.

"You are lost," it hissed, its wide mouth opened in a hideous smile. "You can never go home."

"_Leave me alone!_" Buffy screamed, hating this vile creation with everything in her weakened body.

"Buffy?"

Stifling a sob, the petite slayer turned her head to find Dawn standing uncertainly by the door to the chamber, her hands fluttering at her side, her long face pale with tears pooling in her large brown eyes. "Not you," Buffy whispered, feeling the tears break and blaze down her cheeks. "Please not you too," she begged as she turned her head away.

"Buffy! Oh God, Buffy, what's happened to you?" the phantom demanded as the bed seemed to shift beneath her weight, her warm hands turning Buffy's face towards her.

"Dawnie, I can't do this anymore. I can't do this!" Buffy sobbed, finally taking solace in whatever this phantom could offer as her sister seemed torn between tears and panic, her hands brushing the tears from Buffy's cheeks. "I can't be this person anymore! Dawn... Dawnie I don't know what's worth fighting for anymore," she admitted, her sister finally throwing off her hesitation as the younger girl gathered Buffy in her imagined embrace, her phantom arms wrapping around her and somehow seeming more real than anything else in this horrid nightmare.

"Buffy, what's going on? Who's done this to you? What's happened to you?" the phantom repeated, her voice sounding strained and worried with tears and fear.

"I don't know how I got this way," Buffy whispered in between choked sobs as she clung to the girl that held her, finding that she was wrong for there were many more tears yet to cry. "They want my blood to make them strong, and I can't stop them anymore. I try to catch my breath but I hurt so much. Dawnie... I can't breathe," Buffy gasped as her strained lungs tried to find the oxygen that her traumatized body desperately needed. "I can't breathe."

"Yes, yes you can!" Dawn stated as her phantom hands released her to begin pulling ineffectively at the heavy chains. "I just... I just need to get you free!" she grunted as she strained against the unyielding metal, her movements becoming frantic. "I just need to get you free and then you can fight again," she whimpered as Buffy gently lifted a hand to touch this phantom's beautiful, tear-stained cheek.

"I'll never fight again," the slayer whispered, hating to see her sister cry - even if it was all in her head. "This is how it ends," she whispered as she slowly turned her head away, willing her madness to take another form. Whatever comfort the image of her sister had given her was actually a double-edged blade for the comfort was merely a tease of what she could never again have - a tease of something better that was mired in so much sickness.

"No, Buffy, listen to me! I don't have much time. I just... I just wanted to... _Listen to me!_" the phantom ordered as she forced Buffy's chin towards her. "Just hang on and.. and we'll think of something. Giles.. Giles can-"

"But didn't you know?" Buffy asked, the tears burning her as she looked into her sister's beautiful eyes - etching them into her memory. "Giles is dead," she whispered, watching as those very words deflated whatever strength had been in this phantom as it disappeared with a flash before her eyes.

"Only because you let me go."

Breath catching in her hurting chest, Buffy felt the tears flood her eyes with renewed vigor as she turned to acknowledge the new phantom that had joined her bedside. Yet this was one phantom that her hurting heart truly couldn't handle. "Noooo," she moaned, closing her eyes tightly as though that small act could somehow will the phantom away. "Please not you," she begged as she felt his warm, familiar hand fall upon her face.

"Buffy, you can't ignore me forever."

"Go away, go away, go away!" Buffy returned as she tried to block out her mentor's soft voice. "Please go away," she whispered as she felt the world begin to spin dizzyingly around her.

"You led me down into the darkness. You betrayed me."

"No, it wasn't me. It was a trick," Buffy whimpered, her voice a fervent plea for him to believe her as she finally opened her eyes, desperately taking in the apparition that sat beside her. If only it really was his lined green eyes that were looking down upon her. If only it was his warm hand that was twined in her own. If only it was his soft smile that looked sadly down upon her.

But it wasn't - and that was the cruelest trick of all. She could be deceived by the demons within her that took on the faces of those that she loved and left behind, but she couldn't be tricked by the face that had stayed with her throughout this hellish nightmare. She couldn't be tricked by someone that would never walk the halls of any world ever again.

"You're not real and you're not here! You're not anything but a ghost!.... You're dead," Buffy whispered, hating the finality that could be heard in those two simple words. "You're dead."

"And are you truly so quick to join me?" Giles asked, his voice soft and compassionate.

Breath catching in her throat, Buffy looked towards her mentor and saw not the man that had died by the First Evil's hand, but the man who had stood beside her for seven long years. He may not always have been beside her in body, but he was surely there in spirit. "Giles?"

"Is this the Slayer that I trained? One who thinks that this is the answer?" he asked as he waved towards her heavy frame.

"I... I tried to be strong," Buffy whimpered as she leaned into this invisible touch.

"Strong is fighting!" Giles returned, his voice becoming firm. "It is hard, and it's painful, and it's every day. It is what we have to do."

"But Giles, I-" Buffy began, her words faltering as the door swung open behind him, her eyes turning from her mentor to find Vashnak standing in the open doorway, his dark eyes sweeping the room before falling upon her. Frowning, Buffy turned away from her captor, dismissing him without thought as she searched vaguely for her mentor... only to find that he had gone, leaving her alone with the one EBID who had begun it all.

"Who were you talking to?"

Sighing listlessly, Buffy ignored Vashnak's question as she felt the alluring pull of her dreams and madness call to her once more. As each day passed, it was becoming harder and harder for her to differentiate what was real and what was merely a part of the dream world that she now almost entirely inhabited.

No. That wasn't true.

Discerning one world from the other wasn't so difficult. It was finding the desire to inhabit the one that was filled only with misery that her hurting body and soul shied away from - the one that she had drifted from so long ago, when this very EBID had prevented her from taking her life and sparing herself from this unending misery. The misery that some part of her would have her face once more, as illustrated by Giles' final message. But how could she go back to living in that world? Sure, the phantoms that haunted her dreams could be vicious and cruel, but as evidenced by Dawn and Giles, they could also be gentle and loving as well. What love could be found in a reality that was populated solely by Vashnak and his fellow EBIDs?

"I see you slip further away into your madness, day by day, and... I think it pains me."

Distantly aware of the lithe body that settled lightly on the bed beside her, Buffy felt warm hands encase her cheeks as her head was turned until her half-lidded eyes were locked with those that were black and narrow.

"I watch you and there grows something tight and heavy in my chest," he murmured as his hand gently caressed her pale cheek, causing the cold, numbed flesh to tingle slightly at his careful, almost gentle ministrations. "There is much to be done, much to be prepared, and yet I find you ever on the edges of my thoughts. I can think of nothing else," he admitted as he finally released her from his heavy gaze, his eyes dropping lower as she felt his hands slide down her cheek, trail past her neck, and skim over the bare skin of her chest until one hand rested lightly over her heart, the heat of his touch seeping through the thin gauzy material of the shift and warming the skin beneath.

As though from a world away, Buffy felt that touch tremble ever so slightly as it slid to the side until it half-cupped one breast - the heat of his touch warming skin long cold as her glassy eyes slid down, searching out his gaze. She felt so detached from the world around her, and yet the intensity that smoldered in his black eyes was enough to cause her alarm to begin to waken. There was something not right here. Something not right in any of this - and yet before she could break from her stasis, it was too late as her eyes caught movement in her peripheral as Vashnak's hand moved to his side and withdrew his blade from his sheath, drawing the knife in a thin line along the bared skin above her breasts.

She thought she felt pain and warmth from this heated line of flesh as something savage flashed in Vashnak's eyes, but then that, too, was lost to her as she felt strong arms wrap around her frame, lifting her to him, her head lolling back as she felt hot breath rake over her skin before soft lips were pressed urgently against that heated line.

"You like men who hurt you."

Sighing softly, Buffy felt deceptively warm and secure in Vashnak's arms - her body impossibly heavy as it was cradled against his chest. Yet whatever peace that could have been found in such a comforting embrace was soiled by the feeling of those lips pressed against a wound that had begun to burn and ache, even as it wakened her heavy limbs and pulled her from her madness. Giles' words of encouragement rang back to her even as this new phantom's silky voice awoke a fire in her that she had thought long extinguished. "No," she whimpered as she slowly lifted her heavy, lolling head.

"You need the pain we cause you."

Wanting nothing more than to shake her head in denial, Buffy's eyes instinctively sought out Spike's saddened blue gaze from where he stood behind Vashnak, an audience to this final degrading act. But then her view of Spike was blocked as Vashnak finally lifted his head from her wound, her eyes tracing his reddened lips and the blood that stained his pale skin as he turned and spit the tainted blood upon the tousled sheets, knowing better than to drink something so powerful when there was nothing left to heal.

Fixated, Buffy thought that she could watch those glittering crimson drops as they seeped into the coarse sheets - watch them forever and longer. Yet once more that choice was taken from her as Vashnak pulled her even tighter against him, his lips greedily claiming her own in a bruising crush that locked her breath within her. Frozen, she lay heavy in his arms as these foreign lips smeared blood upon her skin, a thick tongue parting swollen flesh and thrusting into her mouth as though everything that was hers now belonged to him.

"You need the hate," Spike murmured, her eyes once more seeking him out beyond Vashnak's shoulder as the dark-haired creature rubbed his hands down along her awakening body and as she tasted her own blood on his lips - on the tongue that tried to claim her as his own. Yet this was wrong. Spike was wrong, and she had told him so over a year ago when he tried to convince her of these same things.

"You need it to do your job - to be the slayer," Spike whispered as Buffy angrily turned a head that was hers once more, breaking the kiss as she glared at the EBID that dared touch her.

"I... I _don't_ need you," Buffy gasped, forcing the words past weak, trembling lips that were coated with blood as the tears streaked down her pale face. Her body was weak - so very weak - and even though she was unable to do more, she knew that her eyes carried all of the fire that she had thought gone forever. She understood now what Dawn and Giles... no, what _she_ had known all along: she may have been lost for a long time now, but she had never been broken. She was stronger than that.

"I don't need you," she repeated, her words falling quicker from a voice that regained the strength that had once seemed weak and unassuming, her eyes shining with the light of a soul that couldn't be touched by the darkness that surrounded her. "I may be forced to live in the dark, but it can't touch me. _You_ can't touch me," she whispered, her eyes narrowed disdainfully upon this creature. "No one can take that from me. No one," she whispered as she turned her head to the side, finding that her familiar phantoms had gone - and quietly accepting this fact. They had served their purpose and she would take solace in them no longer.

For a moment, Vashnak was silent as he stared down at Buffy's turned head, her once-soft and pliant body now cold and unyielding in his arms. They both knew that despite her words, he could take what he wanted by force - and would probably find more enjoyment in such amusements - but for some reason... for a reason that was altogether alien and foreign to him, he didn't want that. He didn't understand it and he wasn't sure that he even wanted to, but with a fierce snarl, Vashnak knew that whatever it was that had brought him to this room was gone, and without another word he released his prisoner from his hold and stormed from the room.

Alone once more, Buffy weakly lifted one hand to brush the wet blood from her lips, wishing there was a way to get the nauseating copper taste from her mouth. Then again, she knew better than to dwell on idle wishes. Though this was a small victory of sorts, she had not found renewed hope in escaping this hell. A slayer could never afford to be anything but realistic, and unfortunately, that meant that her sole prize in this fight was to regain herself for no other reason that in her final moments, she wouldn't disgrace everything that so many people had given so much to create in herself. She would die in this hell, of that there was no doubt. But at least she would die in a way to make Giles, her friends and family, and all of the Slayers that had passed before her proud.

She wouldn't fail them again.

_"I'm standing on the mouth of hell, and it's gonna swallow me whole. And it'll choke on me. They think we're gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I'm done waiting. They want an apocalypse? Oh, we'll give 'em one. From now on, we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them, and cut out their hearts one by one, until The First shows itself for what it really is. And I'll kill it myself."_


	20. Chapter 20

**Equinoxium: Chapter 20  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

_With his next exhalation, a moment that stretched for an eternity, he released his hold and watched as his arrow flew across the vast fields - and then felt the earth plummet from beneath him as the creature finally turned. With small, delicate hands the cloaked hood was pushed aside, allowing a fanning of golden blonde hair to fall free to frame a familiar oval face, hiding the round arch of small ears, and glistening around twin eyes of green that met his across the distance._

_"No," he whispered, the word a choked plea as his arrow flew true and pierced tan leather and flesh, causing her to stumble in pain as Buffy's voice lifted in agony, her sightless gaze locked with his own as she slumped lifelessly to the ground._

_Dead._

_Gasping in dismay, his bow fell from numb fingers as a lake of crimson spread from the fallen form to wash over his feet in a small wave, soaking through his leggings and drenching his skin with the warm, sticky fluid. Shaking his head, he took a tentative step forward, his heart hammering in his chest as for an ageless moment, he realized the horror of what he had done - a moment that was shattered by the cheers of his allies, the dismayed shrieks of his enemies, and the bright, blasting light of the sun as it shunned the moon and rocketed into the sky above him, bathing their world with blessed light and fully illuminating the lake that spread before him... the lake of blood._

_Captivated by this gruesome sight, his eyes traced over the eddying crimson waves - waves that shone so brightly beneath the warm sun. Waves that carried the warmth of a body that would forever be cold and still. Waves that signified the shattering of an innocent life in order to sway the precarious balance once more towards the light.... at least, that was the way it had always been before._

_Now, as the cheers of his allies became heavy with dismay, he found his eyes lifting to the dark line that opposed them - and felt his breath catch in his throat as their darkness began to spread, seeping out over the vast Pelennor Fields in a wave of shadows that shrouded everything that it touched. For a moment, this dark line hovered over Buffy's broken form before it covered her petite frame and surged past, gathering speed as it swept towards-_

"Then they're not looking hard enough!"

Jerking as he was released from the familiar vision that had taken a new and disturbing twist, Legolas felt his breath catch in his throat as the world came back into focus with a jarring rush as the raised voices of the Councilors, Advisors, and Lords of high standing assaulted his sensitive ears. For a disorienting moment, he felt lost and adrift amongst the familiar strangers, his beleaguered mind vaguely trying to process the darkness that had been so close to hungrily devouring him and his companions, even as he felt his pale cheeks darken at the realization that the vision had taken him in the midst of one of the long sessions that had become synonymous with recent life in Gondor's capital. Flush darkening, Legolas cast his sharp eyes to those gathered, hoping that no one had noticed his sightless, open-eyed gaze as he had been forced to again play a part in the vision that had waxed and waned in intensity in recent days.

With narrowed eyes he looked first to Aragorn, seated at the head of the long table and resplendent in robes of black and silver, his head cradled in his hand as his gray eyes swiftly traveled from one speaker to another, ever sharply aware of the heated debates. Immediately to his left sat Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, a man now of four and forty years with thick, curly brown hair, his intelligent gaze locked upon the speakers. To Aragorn's right sat Elrohir and Elladan, the twin sons of Elrond sitting straight and proud, ever the picture of rapt attention upon their impassive faces. And while Legolas had no fear of the other Men noticing his slip, there remained only one other creature that could have recognized his sightless gaze for what it was.

"With us once again, Master Elf?"

"For the moment, _mellon-nin_," Legolas returned dryly as he turned to the friend that was seated beside him, wryly wondering how it always seemed that the dwarf could catch him in his weakest moments. "How long?" he asked, his eyes casually sweeping over the grand chamber's other occupants, knowing that no further elaboration would be needed for their guarded words.

"A few moments only," Gimli assured with an indifferent shrug that did little to hide the worry that shone in his dark eyes, their conversation lost beneath the angry shouts and loud voices of those gathered in the king's halls. "But long enough all the same," he grunted as he carefully inspected his elven companion, noting the barest traces of shadow that marred the fair skin beneath Legolas' troubled blue eyes. "Though you have missed naught of importance," the dwarf added, pointedly turning his eyes away as he looked across the long table that was surrounded by chairs that held an assortment of Men dressed in their finery.

"Of that I had no fear," Legolas sighed, his lips shifting into the smallest of frowns. Fifty-two days had passed since Buffy's abduction, thirty-five since their arrival in Minas Tirith, and all that had been accomplished was a worthy gathering of Men to debate the same things time and time again. That there was a new, great threat upon the horizon had been decided upon within the first few days. What was to be done about this new threat, on the other hand, was an issue that could never seem to find resolve as the gathering of Men continuously argued the same points and talked themselves in circles while Aragorn and Faramir tried their best to mediate and find resolution. The only concrete decision had been one that had stung Legolas' pride, even as he quietly admitted to the necessity. If he and his Elvish companions had been unable to see Vashnak for what he truly was, how could they possibly expect those of the race of Men to be able to make this distinction?

It was, therefore, within hours of arriving in Minas Tirith that a new edict had been passed, whereas the magnificently wrought stone gates to Minas Tirith would be sealed to all Elves, save those who bore the seal of the colony of Ithilien; an edict that in one day managed to undo all of the progress that he, Aragorn, and Faramir had made in bringing the two races closer together. Once more Aragorn's stone streets were filled with Men that looked upon him and his kindred with suspicious eyes. Rumor of Vashnak and his ridiculously easy entrance into Edoras had spread far and wide, and the ignorant people couldn't help but regard all Elves with the same fear and uncertainty that they once reserved for the Haradrim and the Southrons, or the dim-witted beasts of Sauron. Even the Men that gathered in the King's own chambers each day, Men of high stature and great learning, still harbored suspicions that shone in their eyes whenever they looked upon him or the sons of Elrond. It was a suspicion that Legolas was beginning to fear would take long to erase. Perhaps longer than any Elf was willing to give to this land that they no longer loved as they once did.

"We have waited and deliberated long enough, for by now he may have created an army!" one man bellowed, his low voice ringing above the others as he angrily stood from his chair, a meaty fist pounding against the heavy wood of the polished table. "I say we send Gondor's army into Mordor, for surely that is where this beast is hiding!" he urged as many of his companions voiced their agreements, even as others loudly voiced their doubts.

Sighing loudly, Faramir pressed both hands against his aching head as he waved the man back towards his seat. "Lord Hathryn, as I have said many times these past days, Mordor is an empty land. The Rangers of Ithilien report that the orcs have all but abandoned Sauron's shadowed lands and flock to the North and West."

"And the Rangers of the North say they abandon their caves and dwellings and travel to the South and East," Aragorn added, his tone implying that he had given this argument numerous times in past days. Numerous, _numerous_ times. "Thus, at this time it would be pointless to send the army to a location that we have no reason to believe houses the enemy. For now we have done all that we can, as the forces of Men have been mustered in all the Free Lands - each guarding against an attack that none can predict in nature."

Quickly bowing his head before his king, Lord Hathryn reluctantly took his seat, even as the quiet murmurs of dissent continued. "But if not to Mordor, my King, where then do the fell beasts travel?" he asked, knowing as he voiced the question that it was one in which his Lord and King had no answer. A question in which no Man, Elf, or Dwarf held answer. And yet it was a question that the man found himself repeating as he cast his gaze to his peers, all the while avoiding the sharp gaze of the Lord of Ithilien and the Queen's kin.

Seeing this, Legolas felt his eyes narrow in exasperation, feeling that his earlier point had been proven with this small omission. If not even the King's councilors could find faith in his kind, what hope did he have in-

"To Tol Brandir."

For a moment, silence reigned as everyone followed the soft voice to the tall, bent man that stepped slowly from the shadows. He wore ragged robes of dirty brown, his beard long and full while his face was pressed with deep lines and crevices. For a moment, Legolas thought that he was looking upon the aged form of Mithrandir, Gandalf somehow miraculously returned to them in their time of need, so great was the resemblance. However, as the old man stepped fully from the shadows and as the sun's bright rays fell upon him from the room's high windows, there the resemblance ended as this man's eyes carried none of the stern wisdom of the ancient Wizard, but rather the saddened gaze of one who has seen much, and knows that he will see much more before the end has come.

This man was a stranger to Legolas, and to Aragorn as well as the king instinctively pushed back from his chair, every other Man, Elf and Dwarf in the room doing the same as his hand fumbled for a sword that was not there. He was ensconced within a chamber located on a high floor in the White Tower of Ecthelion, within the seventh gate of his heavily guarded city. There should have been no need to ever draw his sword within these protected walls, and as such, his trusted blade was safely stowed in his chambers, far, far from reach. Eyes narrowing, Aragorn turned towards the closed doors, prepared to call for his guard which always waited without.

"There is no need," the man stated before Aragorn could give voice, his words soft and gentle as he smiled at the wary king.

Frowning, Aragorn's eyes narrowed upon the old stranger. "Who are you?" he demanded, his clear voice echoing in a room that was silent for the first time in many days. "How did you gain entrance to these rooms?" he asked as he looked from the high windows to the sealed doors that would not be opened until Aragorn himself had given permission to do so.

"My name matters not," the old man stated, waving the question away as his eyes slid past Aragorn to take in the dark-haired elves that stood protectively beside him, "and my kind has never needed use of doors to gain entrance when we seek it."

"You are Istari," Elladan hazarded, his gray eyes widening slightly as he inspected the stranger that wore his bent frame much like Gandalf had, using it as a costume to mask the power that the Elf sensed running beneath the aged form.

"I am a friend who brings counsel to those in need," the man allowed with a small, tired shrug - a loose smile pulling at his thin lips.

Frowning, Legolas shifted impatiently beside Gimli, his blue eyes narrowing upon this stranger. "You say the enemy can be found at Tol Brandir," he stated, his clear voice ringing off of the high ceiling, "and yet there is nothing - no dwelling where you speak."

"Nay, there is," Faramir cut in, his expression turning thoughtful as his eyes focused on something just beyond the stranger's shoulder.

"Faramir?" Aragorn questioned, prompting his friend and close advisor from his quiet reverie.

Starting slightly, Faramir quickly glanced to his king as he tried to recall something that Gandalf had once mentioned in passing, many a year before. "In ages past," he began, his low voice filling the quiet room, "it was said that Isildur and Anrion built the Seat of Seeing on Amon Hen on the Western Shore of Nen Hithoel, and the Seat of Hearing on Amon Lhaw on the Eastern Shore."

"Aye," Aragorn agreed, his tone becoming subdued. "It was nearly upon the Seat of Seeing that we first battled the Uruk-hai. The Fellowship of the Ring broke that day when Boromir of Gondor was slain, Merry and Pippin taken, and when Frodo and Sam voyaged to the Eastern Shore to brave the sharp rocks of the Emyn Muin. And yet..." he hedged, his voice trailing away as he looked to his friend in confusion. "And yet, like Legolas, I have seen no place which could house the remnants of Sauron's orcs, let alone the creature Vashnak."

"I have seen no different," Faramir admitted, "but Gandalf once mentioned another watch tower that had been hollowed from the very stone of Tol Brandir itself."

"A very grand and ingeniously crafted tower that is all but invisible to even the keenest eye," the old man agreed, a queer smile twisting his lips. "You see, Tol Brandir stands as an island between either shore and at the mouth of the Falls of Rauros. Its sides spring sheer out of the running water, and high up above the tall cliffs are steep slopes upon which few trees climb, mounting one head above another; and above them again are gray faces of inaccessible rock, crowned by a great spire of stone. Many birds circle about its face, but no sign of other living things can be seen. It is a tower that is hewed from stone, hidden within this island of rock from the very peaks to down within the dank earth below. A tower that Sauron remembered even when the line of kings was broken and the world of Men forgot."

"And what of the notoriously long memory of the Elves?" Gimli questioned, suspicion for this old stranger shining in his eyes as he turned to his quiet companion.

Yet before Legolas could respond, Elladan broke in, a small smile pulling at his lips. "My friend, I fear that such times came even before that of the children of Elrond - and therefore quite assuredly before the time of the youngest son of Thranduil," he added with a small, pointed nod in Legolas' direction. "Although the word of a Maia will always be good enough for me... or have you forgotten the wisdom of Gandalf so soon?"

"Dwarves forget nothing, Master Elf," Gimli returned as he scowled at the innocently-smiling Elf. "I remember instead the crooked tongue of Saruman, who was also Istari."

Ignoring this exchange, Faramir turned from the quiet bantering and met Aragorn's cautious eyes. "This location _would_ explain the orc movement," he murmured, his words intended solely for the ears of his king, "for Tol Brandir certainly lies Northwest of Mordor and Southeast of your kin."

Aragorn slowly nodded his agreement. "I believe you are right, my friend, though had we known of this sooner we would not have lost so much time to idle musings," he stated as he turned his narrowed gray eyes upon the old stranger. "If it is help you claim to bring," he began, his voice once more echoing above the quiet murmurings of those gathered, "why do you bring your counsel now, when so much hope has been lost to time? Lord Hathryn is right - by now an army may have been created and we-"

"Correction," the stranger interrupted with an enigmatic smile. "An army has already been created. And yet," he continued, his eyes turning so that he could catch the entire room within his wizened gaze, "while the Slayer still draws breath, this army only grows."

The result of the man's words was instantaneous as the gathered Men quickly erupted into fierce debate even as Legolas seized upon the stranger's words with a tenacity that quelled the quiet whispers and doubts that had grown in his heart with each passing day. "Then she yet lives?" he demanded, his melodious voice somehow rising above the others, calling out to the stranger for confirmation of this tenuous hope.

The stranger met Legolas' keen gaze for the first time, his eyes betraying so much sorrow that the elf at once felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest. "She does," the man admitted, never once wilting beneath the full strength of the elven stare. "She is strong... and her strength makes them stronger."

Hissing between clenched teeth, Lord Hathryn again pounded his heavy fist upon the polished wood. "This madness must be stopped, now, before it goes any further!" he shouted as the room once more threatened to erupt into loud debate.

"And how would you have us stop it?" another cried out, the man's face becoming purple as thick veins throbbed in either temple. "March an army upon a tower that is surrounded by water, sheer cliffs, and falls? You heard Lord Faramir! It was built to be a watchtower, and with the keen sight of the Elves now with them, they would shoot us down before we could leave the shores. Before we could even _reach_ the shores!"

"Yes," the stranger agreed, his quiet affirmation cutting through the various protests like a sharpened blade through flesh. "Yes, such would be true for an army of Men, but I wonder... would not the fleet steps of the Firstborn traverse this first obstacle, while their very dark-haired appearance spare them from a similar fate?"

For a long moment, all eyes turned to the twin sons of Elrond that remained still beneath the many pondering gazes, even as Faramir shifted absently in his seat, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. "If we are unable to discern these hybrids from Elves, mayhap the same would hold for these dark creatures," he mused as he thoughtfully inspected the twins' pale features and dark hair. "Mayhap they would not be able to discern true Elves from themselves."

Tilting his head slightly, Elladan turned to his twin, his eyes asking a silent question before turning from his brother with a small shrug, his face impassive. "Elrohir and I could approach under the cover of darkness in ways in which no eyes, be they Man or Elf, could follow," he admitted. "We have seen Tol Brandir, and while daunting, we are confident that we could swim the distance without falling victim to the swift current of Nen Hithoel or being swept over the Falls of Rauros."

"Perhaps," Aragorn allowed, his eyes narrowed upon the dark-haired elf, "but be that as it may, to what end? Brother, I intend no slight against you, either of you," he clarified as he included Elrohir in his gaze, "yet two Elves can do nothing against an army of orc _or_ these creatures. Not even when it is you two," he added with a small, grim frown.

"Estel is right," Elrohir admitted with a solemn nod to the king. "Two elves _can_ do nothing against such odds, and yet two elves are more than capable of scouting the enemies' base, learning their numbers... and ensuring that no more of these creatures can be spawned in this manner," he finished, his words falling softly into a room gone deathly still as his gray-eyed gaze turned towards their fair-haired kin, his eyes saying what his lips did not.

Legolas met Elrohir's unflinching gray eyes, feeling his heart grow cold as he looked upon a face that was suddenly strange and foreign to him. "You would kill her then," he stated, his voice flat.

"Is that not the issue that we have been skirting all these many days?" Elladan answered for his brother. "Legolas," he sighed, his gray eyes softening upon their friend, "she was our companion as much as yours. Think you that she would really want any of this? An ending filled with pain and suffering and hatred?" he demanded, his eyes pleading for understanding that _someone_ had needed to say what they had all been thinking - what they all understood needed to be done. It wasn't pleasant and in many ways, it wasn't right. Yet all the same, there were many things in this world that weren't right. Had it been just to burden Frodo Baggins with a ring that would cost him the small pittance of a finger, and a much larger part of his heart and spirit? The kind-hearted hobbit had his innocence stolen from him, spoiling him so completely that in the end, he had no choice but to try and find solace in the Undying Lands. The world had gained peace and freedom from Sauron's evil... and the cost had been the innocence and happiness of one small hobbit. What was just in that? "Better it be to gain that final release by the hand of a friend than an enemy."

Frowning, Legolas looked away from Elladan's piercing gaze as he turned to the polished wood before him. The elder son of Elrond was right in that this was the very issue that everyone had been avoiding for so many days, and yet it was an issue that had been plaguing Legolas' dreams for many months before this council had ever been conceived. It was nearly half a year ago when the first dream had come to him - a dream that foretold the coming of this darkness, and a dream which showed that the ending to this madness lay in the death of one girl.

Or was it?

Unbidden his most recent dream came back to him, vivid and full of sound and color as Buffy's death caused the sun to shun the moon, filling their world with light - only to have the darkness once more encroach upon the light, filling their world with shadows. Frowning, Legolas felt his confusion mount. It made no sense, for his dreams had always urged for him to end Buffy's life in order to restore the balance. Why would they seem to indicate something different, now of all times?

Shaking his head, Legolas quickly realized that he would find no answers in the finely grained wood and instead lifted his eyes to his companions. "Then it shall be done," he stated, his voice breaking the heavy silence as he nodded his head in acquiescence to the twin sons of Elrond. "Though it shall be a company of three Elves, not two, that see to this task," he stated, his voice firm as the Men in the room shifted at his words.

"But fair hair is not seen amongst these creatures," the stranger argued, the dismay evident upon his craggy features as Legolas shifted his gaze for the slightest moment before turning to stare resolutely at the twins, dismissing the man without a second thought.

"Then I shall wear a cloak," the fair-haired Elf ground out between thin lips, his shoulders stiff and unyielding. "Besides, it shall be dark and-"

"Be that as it may," Elrohir cut in, his eyes quickly turning to his brother for support, "I do not think it wise for you to join us on this journey, my friend."

"You are too close to the situation to be able to see things with a clear eye," Elladan added, trying to find a crack in Legolas' firm resolve - and scowling when he found none.

"I am too close?" Legolas queried, his voice cold and hard. "Or perhaps you are too far. You say that it would be better to gain death by the hand of a friend than an enemy, and yet with the words you both have spoken this day, how can you claim her as friend?" the fair-haired Elf demanded, feeling the tension pull his muscles taut, even as Gimli lay a cautioning hand upon his arm. "I will go if for no other reason than to see that she will know the end that you have promised."

Stern features becoming even more dark and grim, Aragorn felt the tension ripple around the large chamber as the gathered Men watched the heated debate with unmasked awe and far too much interest. Far, far too much interest for his liking. Scowling, Aragorn rapped his knuckles upon the hard wood of the table, drawing the unneeded and very much unwanted attention away from the three Elves and back towards their king. He was not blind to the suspicion that Vashnak had cast upon the Firstborn, and it was a suspicion that would not be helped by a brawl between three of the highest ranking Elves left in Middle-earth. "This Council is adjourned for the afternoon," Aragorn stated, his deep voice ringing in the high chamber, his eyes daring the men to try and argue his ruling. "Everyone is dismissed - save for you two," he stated, nodding pointedly at his foster-brothers, "you two," he continued as he indicated Legolas and Gimli, "and you two," he finished, waving both to Faramir and the old stranger that had begun creeping towards the door.

Amidst pointed grumbling, the room was cleared within minutes of all save for his closest friends and the stranger that had managed to turn the entire Council upside down with two simple words - and the man who had managed to turn friend against friend. Eyes narrowing upon the old man, Aragorn waved everyone towards their chairs - and felt his ire grow when only Faramir and Gimli joined him in taking a seat at the table. Sighing loudly, Aragorn watched as the three Elves continued to glare at one another, experience dictating that to an immortal, such a contest of wills could last all day.

Faramir, seeing likewise, once more dismissed the Elves as he turned his narrow gray eyes to the old stranger that seemed content to try and hide amongst the slender shadows that bracketed one corner of the large chamber. "Why should we trust the word of a stranger that will not even give his name?" he asked, his curious gaze sweeping over a form that belied the power in the old man's tired eyes. "How do we know that you do not send us into a trap?"

"For what reason would I have to trick you?" the man returned with a simple shrug. "Though in the end it matters not, for I care little if you listen to my advice or not. My task was merely to give you the information that you sought. What you do with that information is left to you," he finished before stepping further into the shadows until his form was lost in darkness. No, Faramir realized with a start as he rose from his chair so quickly that it fell onto its back upon the stone floor behind him, his gray eyes locked on the supple shadows - the stranger wasn't lost in the shadows... he simply wasn't there.

"By Durin's beard," Gimli breathed, his eyes easily piercing the shadows in vain for the stranger that had simply ceased to be. The stranger that had exited the sealed room as simply and mysteriously as he had entered.

And yet while the Men and Dwarf were transfixed by the stranger's exit, the three Elves remained oblivious to their friends' wonder as gray eyes clashed with blue. "I would spare you of this, my friend," Elladan murmured, the smooth strains of Sindarin slipping unconsciously from his lips as he tried to make their fair-haired friend see wisdom.

"And I would spare Buffy from a death that she would not understand," Legolas returned, his expression unwavering. "You ask a great thing of her - to sacrifice her life for a world that is not her own. Do you wish to be the one to tell her why she must lay down her life upon your blade?"

"Do you?" Elrohir returned, his fair features unmoved by Legolas' words.

For another moment, silence reigned as Legolas demanded his heart the same question. Could he really kill her if it meant casting off the darkness that once more threatened his world? If his friends asked it of him, could he really pull back his bow string, as in his dream, and let his arrow fly true to pierce her breast and forever stop the beating of her heart? Could he cast off the bonds of this friendship and ignore his heart in order to do as demanded as the Lord of Ithilien, and do what was best for his people and everyone else that still lived upon these shores?

"You need not-"

"If there is truly no other way," Legolas cut in, his eyes capturing each of the twins within his shadowed gaze, "then yes, I would take that task upon myself and no other."

Frowning, Elladan was about to pursue the argument further when Gimli loudly cleared his throat, reminding the Elves that three others remained in the large chamber.

"I am afraid that you will not win this one, my friends," the dwarf stated solemnly as his dark eyes swept over the Elf standing taut beside him. "Stubbornness is a trait that runs strong in the House of Oropher, and a trait that I have been calling a plague upon for close to a decade now. Arguing with him when he is like this is more pointless than trying to argue with a blunt axe or a heavy stone."

"Besides which," Aragorn added with a dark frown at the four other beings, "who ever said that this task was going to be left to the Elves? Fleet footed you may be, but are we forgetting who is king in this realm?"

Fierce scowl melting into a brilliant smile, Elladan dismissed his former solemnity as easily as the sun shunned the dark clouds, jovially clapping Aragorn on the back. "Estel, I thought that you would have learned by now that it matters not what crown you wear, for you shall always be our brother first and king second."

"Besides," Legolas added, unable to throw off his solemn mask so easily as he felt his shoulders begin to sag beneath the weight of all that he carried, "these creatures are the responsibility of the Elves before that of Men, for though we have avoided saying it until now, we all know it to be true: the blood of the Firstborn runs red through their veins. They are _Mornedhel_, Dark-Elves, and whether we like it or not, they are our kin."

"Perhaps," Gimli allowed with a small nod towards the Elven prince, "but Elves are not the only ones who can lay claim against these creatures. Do you truly think that these Dark-Elves, as you have aptly named them, will be content to limit their battles to those Elves that remain in Middle-earth?"

"Gimli, I-"

"Nay," the Dwarf cut in, proving that Elves were not the only creatures that could be credited with a fierce stubbornness. "They are a threat to all free creatures in Middle-earth, be they Elf, Dwarf, Man or Hobbit. All should have a fair claim to loosing their heads from their deceptively fair bodies. And my axe, for one, shall not be denied."

For a long moment, Legolas fought a losing battle against the smile that threatened his grim demeanor, finally admitting defeat as he gazed upon the stern set to his friend's features. "Be that as it may," he murmured with a wide bow towards his friend, "I hope, Master Dwarf, that you will allow that the greater threat, if threats do come by way of trickery, does lie against Man and Elf. After all, your fellow Dwarves barely allow me through the mouth of your Glittering Caves. After word reaches them of Orcs that wear the fair faces of my kindred, think you that they would have any trouble withholding their entrances against any _Mornedhil_ that dared try enter?"

Nodding solemnly, his small eyes twinkling above his thick, wiry red beard, Gimli made a point of considering Legolas' words. "In that, Master Elf, you may finally have a point."

Aragorn interrupted the Elf and Dwarf's customary interplay as he settled heavily upon his chair, his gray eyes locked upon the innocent shadows that had consumed the old stranger. "I don't like it," he stated, his words cutting through the quiet bickering as he turned to his friends. "I do not trust this stranger, nor his wisdom."

"Yet do we really have a choice?" Faramir returned with a small shrug. "If the _Mornedhel_ are truly hidden in the watchtower of Tol Brandir, we can hardly pass up the opportunity to discern their numbers or the make of their army. And though I have never enjoyed the idea of sending others to do the oft-dangerous work that must be done, the stranger was right in one thing: only the _Eldar_ have any chance of reaching the shores of Tol Brandir undetected."

Frowning, Aragorn found himself nodding in agreement of the Steward's words. "Well said," he murmured, though he hated admitting to the truth in his friend's arguments. These were his brothers and closest friend that he was sending into the Enemy's possible encampment - into a possible trap, with no aid to be given. His heart quelled at such thoughts, and yet in the nine years that he had been king, Aragorn had been forced to learn a difficult lesson. Many times, the wants of his heart had to be ignored over the wants of his kingdom. This time was no different.

Aragorn turned his dark eyes upon the three Elves that were now, rather reluctantly, standing together, awaiting his decision - even as they all knew that even without his consent, they were free to do as they wished. Aragorn was the King of Men, and though their hearts bound them as brothers and many were the times in which the three Elves had acceded to his decisions in battle, he had no power over any of them or their kindred. "Go find what answers you may, and take what actions you find necessary," he stated, his eyes slipping to Legolas' solemn features. "The supplies and aid of all of Minas Tirith are at your disposal."

Bowing formally at the generous offer, Elladan stepped forward as the eldest amongst the Elvish trio. "If we leave at sunrise and ride hard, we can reach Parth Galen and the waters of the Nen Hithoel by sunset of the day after tomorrow. We will find what answers and take what actions we may that night," he continued, his eyes sliding to his silent, fair-haired companion, "and should be returned four days hence."

"And all of Gondor will await your word," Aragorn sighed as Faramir stood solemnly beside him.

"As will the Dwarves of Aglarond," Gimli added, reminding them of his presence and the role he filled as lord of his people as he shot a glare at the taller beings.

"As you will it," Elladan returned with a cheeky grin at the dwarf.

Ignoring this small exchange, Legolas turned to Aragorn with a sudden, pained grimace. "My friend, will you see to something else for me in my absence?"

"Anything," Aragorn returned without thought, his eyes narrowing in concern upon the fair-haired elf.

"I would not be so quick to make that promise, for you have not yet heard my request," Legolas returned with a soft sigh. "Thoron should be returning from the colony in Ithilien sometime in the next few days, and before he left, he was rather... insistent that I remain here in his absence. Will you see that he awaits my return for me here?

"And doesn't go charging after you, you mean?" Gimli returned as Man and Elf alike tried to hide their amused snickers.

Smiling openly, Aragorn clapped the scowling Elf on the shoulder as Faramir pointedly nudged the innocent-looking Dwarf. "I will see that he does, my friend. Well, rather I will see that Arwen ensures his cooperation," the king amended with a small grimace of his own. "We all know that aside from your father, she is the only one that he will listen to," he added as his features turned solemn. "Just take care, _mellon-nin_, for I should not want to face your father's advisor should anything happen to any of you."

"Nor would I," Legolas quickly agreed. "Nor would I."

* * *

With the soft clang of key against lock, the heavy door's catch was released as the wood was pushed open, revealing the bedchamber that was bathed in shadows and flickering light. Frozen upon this threshold, the Man felt his breath catch in his throat as his eyes hungrily sought out the barest hints of daylight that lined the heavy curtains across the way - a daylight that he was beginning to fear he would never see again. At least not in this lifetime.

"Did I tell you to stop?"

Breath hissing between clenched teeth, the Man tore his eyes away from the brief snatch of light as he stumbled into the room, his aching body trembling from abuse and fatigue as he rolled with the rough handling that had dragged him from the very bowels of this hellhole into these lofty heights. "I don't understand," the man stammered as he staggered against a wall that seemed to have been hewn straight from the rock that choked the light from the dimly lit room. "What has our village done to deserve the wrath of the Firstborn?" he whispered, feeling his fear, anger, and desperation claw at him as flashes of burning homes, screaming children, and so much blood flashed in his mind's eye.

"You exist," the dark-haired, fair-bodied Elf returned in a voice that was so achingly beautiful - and all the more wrong for the deadened quality that hardened the musical tones. With an annoyed sigh, the Elf gripped the man's elbow and turned him until he faced the large bed and its sole occupant - and with that sight, the Man felt his every hope escape him in one agonizing rush.

"Valar help us," he whispered, his hands beginning to tremble as his eyes swept over the small woman-child that lay unmoving upon the pale sheets. In that moment, everything else was stripped away, leaving him with nothing but the girl that lay before him as he moved on wooden legs until he stood at what seemed to be her deathbed, his eyes taking in her pale features, the dark bruises that marked the skin beneath each eye, her glistening, golden fanning of hair, and the pale, blue-tinged lips that were cracked and parted. Trembling hands reaching forward, he pressed the heel of one hand against a forehead that was chilly to the touch, and then held his shaking fingers over her lips to feel the soft rush of air as she took quick, shallow breaths.

"What ails her?"

Snatching back his hand as though he had been burned by the simple question, the man lifted his eyes to the dark-haired he-Elf that had brought him to this chamber. "I... I'm just a simple healer," the man stammered as his quick eyes turned from this impassive Elf to the she-Elf that stood beside him, her cold eyes locked upon the still girl. "I cannot... I cannot determine such a thing until... well, until I know what has been done to her. Until I know what injuries she has sustained. I-"

"If it was something as simple as that, do you really think we would have needed the skills of a Man?" the Elf demanded with a derisive sneer.

"No, of course not," the healer quickly demurred, more out of a last-ditch hope of self-preservation than out of true understanding. That the Elves had raided their town in search of his skills went without saying. That the blood of his family and neighbors would forever stain his soul as a result went without questioning. The part that _did_ bother the man was the question of why. He had never been blessed with the opportunity to see one of the firstborn before this day, and yet there was no mistaking the creature for its true nature. But now... now he couldn't help but wish that he had never been given such an opportunity. Yet even with no experience with the firstborn, their skill in the art of healing was known far and wide. Even a human malady should have been no chore for an Elvish healer, and yet they had come for him.

Worrying his lip with the blunt edge of his teeth, the man cast his gaze upon the bed once more - and felt frozen by the piercing green eyes that were locked with his own. Now that he looked upon her, he could see that she was more woman than girl, and yet in the eyes he saw a wisdom that went beyond her young years; a wisdom and a fierce fire that burned him with her simple gaze.

"You are human. She is human. Heal her," the she-Elf added with an imperious wave in the blonde's direction.

The green-eyed gaze was distracted by the she-Elf's voice, her eyes becoming unfocused as though it took the young woman a moment to understand the Elf's words, and yet when she did, the result was instantaneous as her gaze widened slightly, her eyes becoming pleading in their silent intensity. "No," the girl choked, the word a soft, breathless plea.

In that moment, the Man understood well enough what the green eyes were asking of him. The girl didn't want to be healed. She wanted to die, and even if he didn't yet know what ailed her, she certainly did - and yet it was her eyes that betrayed her as they unconsciously slid away from his face and flickered towards something on the bed beside her. Turning, he followed her gaze - and then stepped forward, his trembling hand wrapping around the bandaged wrist that she had been vainly trying to hide beneath the sheer folds of the dressing gown she wore. Gently, he cradled the wounded appendage in his calloused hands, his fingers gently rubbing the clean bandages as his eyes traced the blood that was splattered upon the sheets - blood that was fresh and old - some a vivid red while others a dry burgundy. And in that moment, he understood.

"She has lost too much blood," the healer stated, the words falling from his lips before he even realized what he was saying. And at the rushed breath that was released from the girl's lips, he realized the treachery of that small slip with everything in his being.

"Will she die?" the dark-haired Elf demanded, his words falling sharp like knives against the man's already battered nerves. "Will she die?" he repeated, his voice becoming savage as the man hesitated.

"Perhaps," the healer murmured as he gently lowered the girl's wrist to the bed, avoiding her accusing gaze as he moved to draw a blanket over her slender frame. "Perhaps not. If she is strong, then with lots of rest, and plenty of food and drink to nourish her, she may yet recover."

Yet as the man turned away from her heavy form, Buffy found that she couldn't hate this stranger for giving Vashnak and Sugha the information needed to keep her from succumbing to her body's own failings. She could only envy him as with those uttered words, he had sealed his fate as surely as he had sealed her own. Silently, she watched as Sugha moved behind the gentle healer and brought her knife to his throat, slicing through skin, muscles, and arteries with one quick stroke that ended his life in a heartbeat - and thereby releasing him from the torment of captivity.

Yes.

She envied the healer and his escape from this Hell... even as she silently wondered how many days, weeks, or years his small token of wisdom had added to her own sentence.

**Author's Notes (cont.):**For all of you LoTR canon nuts, don't go hitting the books looking for this impressive fortress that is carved within the pinnacle of Tol Brandir. I made it up - and trust me when I say that a _lot_ of research went into finding the very best location for Vashnak's lair. It just so happened that putting it right out in the open was far too tempting. Don't you think Mordor is a bit overdone? Also, kudos to Tolkien (as always), for I borrowed Frodo's description of Tol Brandir, which can be found on pages 386-7 in my copy of the trilogy (FOTR).


	21. Chapter 21

**Equinoxium: Chapter 21  
by Lisette**

**Legalese**: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

With quick, practiced movements Legolas packed his travel bag, his hands moving methodically through his possessions even as his mind sorted through the list of everything that was needed. They would be traveling quick and light, and aside from weapons, food and water, little else was needed - which meant that all too soon his hands were left idle. The elven prince paused in the pre-dawn light, the flickering flames of the torches illuminating his usual beautiful chambers in the Citadel. The suite of rooms were large and richly decorated, yet the feature that always drew Legolas' unwavering gaze was the floor to ceiling windows that opened into the palace gardens. In a city of stone, such accommodations were necessary for a wood-elf to ever feel at ease - a fact that Aragorn knew without Legolas ever having to say so, thereby guaranteeing that this suite of rooms was always left ready and waiting for one of his frequent visits.

"The sun will be rising soon."

"It will," Legolas agreed with a small smile as he turned from the large windows to find Gimli leaning against his open doorway, the dwarf looking for all the world as though it was mid-afternoon, instead of the early morning hour. "Did Elladan and Elrohir send you to fetch me?" he asked, arching a fine brow at his friend as he turned back to the small, waterproof bag that Aragorn had provided the night before.

"No, though had I been, I imagine that my mission would have been more to hinder than hasten your coming. Actually, if you are not at the stables when the sun rises, I believe they shall have no troubles leaving without you," Gimli stated in his usual brisk manner as he slowly entered the room, his heavy steps echoing on the smooth stone floor.

"I would expect nothing less from the sons of Elrond," Legolas agreed as he closed the small pack, finally turning towards his friend to find the hilts of his twin knives held towards him, the dwarf's features uncharacteristically solemn. "Something troubles you," the Elf noted, his eyes easily reading his friend's chiseled features.

Yet instead of his customary banter, Gimli merely tilted his head to the side in a manner that was so Elvish that Legolas couldn't help but be reminded of how much their strange friendship had changed them both. "This task should not be left to the Elves."

"If not to the Elves, then to whom?" Legolas countered as he slid his knives into their sheaths by his quiver - a quiver that would be left by his horse when they finally arrived at their destination. Even if they were able to pass themselves off as _Mornedhel_, there was no way that his Lothlorien bow could be mistaken for one of orc creation, nor would the fine wood appreciate the swim to the island of Tol Brandir. Unfortunately this mission would have to rely upon the blade. "To the Dwarves?" the fair-haired Elf continued as he glanced at his neat rooms before slipping into the hall, Gimli falling into step beside him as Legolas unconsciously shortened his long stride to match that of his companion. "The axe of a Dwarf is not needed in this."

"Perhaps," Gimli allowed, his face impassive as they passed guards and servants who were only beginning to stir for the day's tasks. "And yet a Dwarf's axe certainly couldn't have hurt during your travels these past months. Captive in an orc encampment?" he asked, his beard twitching beneath what could have easily been a smile or a frown.

"A very brief stay," Legolas quickly assured with a small grimace, even as he vowed further action against whichever of the twins leaked that bit of news to his shorter companion - or perhaps both. "A very brief stay that I have no intentions of repeating in the near future. Or ever."

"I should hope not," Gimli agreed with a small snort as they exited the grand halls and stepped into the weak, pre-dawn light, their steps instinctively moving towards the Seventh Gate that would lead them down into the Sixth Level where the stables were located. "And yet... the twins were right about one thing," the Dwarf continued, his words becoming brisk as his eyes remained firmly fixed on the cobbled street before them. "You are too close to this situation. You lose what little Elven sense you have on matters that should be clear."

"Or perhaps I have the clearest picture of them all," Legolas countered softly as they passed the guarded gates and moved into the Sixth level - only to have his steps falter as a heavy hand fell upon his slender shoulder.

Frown now firmly etched upon his face, his narrow brow puckered with lines as his small eyes inspected his elven companion, Gimli slowly nodded his head in understanding. "You have seen something - something more than what you have said," he guessed, able to see past his friend's elvish stoicism as though it was no more than a transparent mask that wilted beneath his heavy gaze.

For a moment, Legolas paused before his friend as his eyes turned towards the Ephel Dath, the Mountains of Shadow that bordered the gray lands of Mordor - and the range over which the sun was only beginning to climb, bathing first Ithilien, and then Osgiliath, the Pelennor Fields, and finally Minas Tirith in her warm golden light. "I have," he admitted with a soft sigh, his eyes closing as the sun's welcome rays bathed his face in warmth and light. "The dream continues past the point which I have recounted, and each time it ends in my hand spilling her blood over the Pelennor Fields in order to set the sun free... but now the dream has changed and such actions may result in the doom of all."

For moments uncounted, silence fell between the two friends as the city slowly began to awaken in the levels below them. To creatures that were immortal, patience was a gift and blessing, and Legolas awaited the dwarf's response with an ease that was ingrained in every part of his being. Then again, if Elves were blessed with patience, such gifts were considered a poor pittance to Dwarves, and within minutes Gimli shifted and continued towards the nearby stables.

"What will you do?"

"I know not," Legolas admitted, his sharp eyes easily picking out Elladan and Elrohir, as well as Aragorn and Arwen where they gathered near the stable walls.

"Perhaps not now, but you will," Gimli returned, his deep baritone rumbling with the full confidence of a people that were practical in all ways. "When the time comes, you will know what you have to do."

* * *

Two days had passed, and as the sun fell beneath the high walls of the Western Shore, for the first time in nine years Legolas cast his sharp gaze from his position on the wooded banks of Parth Galen over the familiar waters of the Anduin where they emptied into the bowl of Nen Hithoel. Nine years had come and gone since he had last walked these shores, in a company that was comprised of Men, Hobbits, and a Dwarf that was only beginning to become the dear friend that now awaited his return in the stone city of Minas Tirith. Nine years since the band of Uruk-hai had taken their company unawares, capturing two, driving two to the opposite shore, and killing one in these same woods. Boromir of Gondor had been slain that day, dying a valiant death as he protected Merry and Pippin, and only hours later his body had been set to rest upon the Falls of Rauros - the sleek boat skimming past the towering island of Tol Brandir, with none the wiser of the secret lair that it contained.

Frowning softly, Legolas' eyes traversed the dark waters - waters that would be unbearably cold to a mortal in these bitter winter months - and followed their lapping waves to the pillar of rock that rose from the turbulent waters. Even as day turned into night, the moon's brilliance washing the skeletal trees with light and glinting off of the thin crust of snow, this tall tower remained dark and still - a silent sentinel to the Falls of Rauros that crashed loudly just beyond the tall peak.

"Maybe this was all a trick, after all," Elladan murmured as he stepped beside the fair-haired elf, his pack in one hand as he followed Legolas' sharp gaze to the lonely pillar of rock. "I see naught but stone and withered trees upon the spire of Tol Brandir. There are no lights, or even boats upon its shore."

"There must be another entrance somewhere along either shore," Elrohir ventured as he turned to eye the steep cliffs behind them. "Perhaps a tunnel that delves beneath the lake itself, connecting the island to the shores."

"Perhaps," Legolas murmured, his eyes briefly lifting to the top of the grand cliffs behind them where Drlum and the other horses patiently awaited their return. "Though such a search would take more time than we have. I suggest that we stick to our original plan."

Sighing, Elrohir morosely eyed the dark waters. "I was afraid you would say that," he murmured as he reluctantly dropped his pack beside him, his nimble fingers working the fastenings of his boots, cloak, tunic, under-tunic and leggings as he disrobed with quiet efficiency.

In his heart, Legolas couldn't help but silently agree with the younger twin's reluctance as he shoved his own garments and weapons into the waterproof bag that Aragorn had provided. Being an Elf, he barely felt the winter's cold bite on his pale shoulders or slender hips, his skin glowing with the ethereal light of Aman, yet that didn't mean that he was looking forward to taking the icy plunge anymore than his companions. Prolonged exposure in icy water was bound to take its toll, no matter his Elven strength or stamina.

"Well, come on then," Elladan sighed as he slung his pack over his head and one pale shoulder, his features grim as he ever so slowly inched into the eddying depths, feeling the icy water lap around his ankles, and then his calves, his knees, his thighs - and grimacing as it swept over his slender hips as the elder twin submerged himself in the dark waters that quickly engulfed his glowing body.

"Next time, I say we let the Men and Dwarf have their fun," Elrohir muttered as he followed his brother into the water, the prince falling into step behind him as the younger twin felt the tug of the strong current that wanted to carry him towards the trap of the swift falls. Ignoring the insistent pull, he used long, strong strokes to pull him free of the treacherous currents as he and his two companions swam straight towards the Western Shore, their breaths coming slow and even as they fell into a rhythm that carried them into the northern shadow of Tol Brandir, the island now standing between them and the sheer Falls of Rauros. Turning south, the trio then continued directly towards the large pinnacle, free now of the pulling currents as they swam effortlessly towards shore.

Almost effortlessly, for by the time the three Elves finally stepped onto the rocky, deserted shore, the Moon had already moved in its long arc towards the west and their breaths now came heavy, distorted amongst the shivers that wracked their luminescent forms. Silently, the trio rescued their dry garments from the sealed bags, dressing even as their eyes continuously scoured the craggy face that rocketed into the sky hundreds of feet above them. The sound of the falls was much louder here, and nothing could be heard outside of the roar of water as it plummeted over the high precipice.

Frowning, Legolas was about to admit that perhaps Elladan was right, and that they had been tricked into coming here, but whatever doubts he was feeling were quickly forgotten as his sharp sight caught a brief flicker of light, far upon the high cliffs of the tower of rock. Muscles tightening, Legolas turned to his companions, seeing that they had not missed the irrefutable sign of life where there should have been none. For whatever reason, it seemed as though the stranger had spoken true - which meant that somewhere in this tower of rock, Buffy was held captive - a captivity that he would see ended this night, one way or another.

Fair features becoming grim, Legolas threw his empty bag against the shadowed rocks as he moved resolutely towards the gentle incline that quickly escalated into a sheer climb. With practiced eyes, he gauged the sparse brush and withered trees, listening to their muted whispers as he began to discern the most minute crevices in the craggy face that would aid in their climb. In moments a path had been selected and without further ado, he scrambled forward as far as possible before reaching for the first handhold... and then began to climb.

The art of climbing was one that was perfected by all elflings at a very young age, whether they be Noldor or Sindarin, Galadhrim or Silvan. It was a skill set that was necessary for survival in the woods in which all Elves dwelt, and one that was aided by the trees that so loved the first children of Iluvatar. But here, upon a face of stone with naught but the occasional scrub or small tree to rejoice in his passing, Legolas was quickly learning that climbing a wall of stone was not quite the same thing.

This mountain of rock did not shift its walls in order to bring a handhold within reach. This mountain of rock did not sing its encouragements and promises to never let him fall. No, this mountain of rock was a cold mistress, and Legolas found himself focusing entirely on the slender cracks and crevices that allowed room for the tips of his fingers and the barest edges of his toes as he scaled the wall, only semi-aware of the twins working to either side of him along the sheer surface.

For minutes and hours unnumbered, Legolas lived for each new hand or foothold, the rest of the world falling away - until his fingers scratched against the wall above him, only to find that the rough planes of stone had been replaced by the smooth sheen of glass that was covered by several millennium's worth of grime and dirt. "Elladan, Elrohir - I have found a-"

"Aie!"

"Window," Elrohir supplied with a quiet chuckle as Legolas turned towards the twin's brother. "Aye, and so has Elladan, or so it seems," the younger twin added as he followed Legolas' gaze, the edges of Elladan's boots just barely visible from where they hung out of whatever window the twin had fallen into. "Although it seems as though his was open," he added with a sly smile as he began working his way sideways, crablike across the sheer face in the direction that his brother had disappeared.

"You are both just lucky that this room is empty, or else-"

"Someone would have surely heard your girlish scream," Elrohir finished for his brother with an impish grin as he followed Legolas into the room, his eyes sweeping over the small, empty chamber.

"I do not scream like an _elleth_," Elladan countered with a stern glare at his twin. "I was merely voicing my surprise at suddenly finding a hole when before there was naught but solid rock."

"You are right, my brother. Not even Arwen screams quite so- Legolas!" Elrohir hissed as the flickering light of many torches illuminated their small chamber, his eyes at once fixing on their fair-haired companion as the elven prince stood before the cracked doorway. "You heard the stranger!" he warned as he hurried to their friend's side, his pale hand roughly seizing the hood of the other elf's dark cloak and pulling it over his mostly dry golden locks. "You must stay covered or else that tedious climb would have been for naught. We may as well have had Elladan scream from the shore, begging to be taken prisoner!"

"Brother, if you do not-"

"Enough!" Legolas hissed, his blue eyes burning into startled twin pairs of gray. "You may argue the merits of Elladan's distress at another time. For now, there is much to be accomplished this night and our time grows short," he finished before opening the door before anymore consideration could be given. Yet as he stepped into the torch-lit hall, Legolas found himself nearly losing his expressionless mask as he entered a world that was wholly alien and entirely _wrong_. To his right and left, orcs and elves moved in small groups through the wide hall, intermingling without thought as the harsh gratings of the Black Speech was uttered by every tongue, distorting the melodious voices of his dark kin. And there were so many elves in these halls! All were fair of face and skin, with dark hair pooling around their slender shoulders, their faces impassive while their eyes were cold, dressed in anything from rags to rich robes that bore the fine stitching of Men and Elf alike. So many of them... too many.

How could so many orcs have been changed by Buffy's blood... and Buffy yet live?

Eyes creasing slightly in concern, Elladan gently touched Legolas' elbow, silently breaking him from his stasis as he nodded his head in one direction down the cavernous hallway. What went unspoken were the words that he could see reflected in Elladan's gray eyes - eyes that were a bit lighter than the darker eyes of the Mornedhel. _Come. There is much to be accomplished this night and our time grows short._

Short indeed.

* * *

"You are sure she mentioned Buffy?"

"Well I never claimed to be fluent in the Black Speech. However, I am almost certain that _sharlob_ means 'human woman'... well, either that or 'old hag.' The two are so-"

"Elrohir!"

"Alright, alright. Yes, I am certain now that she was talking about Buffy. Well... almost certain."

Silently shaking his head, Legolas looked to the ceiling as though he could somehow beg _Elbereth_ for the patience to deal with the Elf beside him. Hours had passed since Elladan had unwittingly discovered the open window into the Tower of Tol Brandir; hours spent walking the torch-lit stone passageways that had been fashioned by the hands of Aragorn's ancestors several millenniums past; and hours in which all three Elves had quickly come to realize that the old stranger had indeed been telling the truth. Sauron's scattered orc remnants had gathered together to form an army - an army that was comprised of thousands of the disfigured creatures, and hundreds, if not more of the Dark Elves that Buffy's blood had created.

That such a gathering of dark creatures could congregate in one well-chosen location with none being the wiser was disquieting. That their numbers could have grown so great in so little time was dismaying. But mostly, that this secret lair was located within a three day's ride from the doors of Minas Tirith, the gates of Edoras and the trees of Ithilien... that news was simply damning. Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir had been sent as scouts to see the enemy's strength, and the news that they would return with would be that which nightmares were made of.

"No, I think that Elrohir is correct. _Sharlob_ most definitely means either 'human woman' or 'old hag.'"

Sighing softly, Legolas turned away from the twins and eyed the _elleth_ that they had been following. She was tall and dark, as were any of her kin, with pale skin and eyes that were cold and hard. She wore fine robes of a deep blue that swished with every long stride, but most importantly, a large ring of keys were attached to the sash at her side. A very, very large ring of keys.

It had been mere chance that they had overheard her conversation with two other dark-haired elves - a conversation in which Elrohir had sworn that Buffy had been mentioned. Since then she had continued along the flickering passageways, climbing ever higher in the tower as the other orcs and dark elves parted before her. Whoever she was, the _mornedhil_ was obviously an elf of some importance, and yet the odds of stumbling upon someone that could lead them to Buffy's whereabouts were so monumental, that Legolas could only hope that fortune was indeed smiling down upon them. After the dismal past few months that were filled with nothing but failure, this small grace would be a blessing. Now the only problem lay in somehow getting her away from the others that roamed these halls in order to gain the answers that they were searching for.

Footsteps slowing in response to Elladan's stilted movements before him, Legolas shifted against a closed doorway to allow a stumbling orc to go past. Frowning, he watched as the Dark Elf that they had been following paused before one heavy door, no different than any other, and began searching through the keys on her ring - and therein saw the opportunity that they had been searching for.

Hands automatically reaching for the single dagger that was tucked into his belt, Legolas followed Elladan with long, confident strides towards the distracted she-Elf as she inserted a large key into the door's lock. To his right he caught a flicker of movement as Elrohir fell into step beside him, and then stepped past him until he was walking in unison with his brother as the unsuspecting she-Elf turned the door's knob and pushed the heavy door open. Features as cold and hard as the _Mornedhel_ that he stepped past, Legolas watched as the door started to swing shut, only to have Elladan smoothly slide through the narrowing gap, Elrohir following quickly on his brother's heels until Legolas remained alone in the torch-lit hall. For the briefest of moments, he paused on this threshold, his blue eyes, hidden beneath his dark hood, quickly scouring the faces of those that walked past before he, too, stepped into the room beyond, his hands sliding against the heavy wood and pushing the door shut behind them.

With the soft snick of the closing door, the muffled conversations of those without fell away, leaving the room bathed in a thick silence. Sighing softly, Legolas turned from the wooden barrier to find the she-Elf pushed against a nearby wall, Elladan's sword tip pressed against the smooth whiteness of her throat as Elrohir crushed his hand against her lips - ensuring her silence.

"Lock the door," Elladan instructed as he pried the ring of keys from the _elleth's_ hand, never turning his attention from the Dark Elf as he tossed them to his fair-haired companion.

"Ask her where we can find..." Legolas began to return as he slipped his hood from his head, freeing a wave of golden hair as he turned to lock the door, his eyes casually sweeping over the room that they had entered - and promptly forgetting the rest of his question. The chamber was little larger than the one in which they had entered through the open window hours ago, and yet while the other was empty, this room was not.

"Buffy," Legolas whispered, the keys slipping from his fingers as he stepped towards the bed that was set against the adjacent wall, his wide, horrified eyes falling upon the bed's sole occupant.

Twenty days he had spent in Buffy's company - twenty days since he first witnessed her sudden arrival in the woods of his birth until the morning that she disappeared. Twenty days, which were less significant than the blinking of an eye to one who was blessed with immortality, and yet twenty days which weighed more heavily upon his mind and heart than the fifty odd days since she had been taken. He had been without her company longer than he had been with, and yet the proud tilt of her chin, the sorrow that had hung on her like a heavy cloak only to be slowly released as the days passed by, and the graceful and skilled twists of her blade were all ingrained in his memory. Petite in stature, a glance at her would invoke thoughts of fragility and weakness, while a mere moment in her company would rectify that misconception as she demonstrated that she was a woman of great strength and skill. But now... now that image was shattered.

With slow, measured steps, Legolas crossed the distance to the large bed that all but engulfed Buffy's frame - a frame that was thin and emaciated, and only a shadow of her former self. Thick, heavy blankets of a muted gray covered all but the hints of her pale shoulders - shoulders that were much narrower and pointier than he remembered. Her skin, always such a lustrous golden color, was now thin and waxy, the pale lines of blue veins visible over the taut wrapping as dark bruises mottled practically all of that which was visible. Even the skin beneath her closed eyes was shadowed and marred, and her parted lips showed evidence of her long weeks in captivity - the skin dry and cracked, parted slightly as her breath whistled from a body that refused to quit. Her hair seemed the only part of her which had not changed as it lay thick and golden beneath her head - shining in the flickering light of the torches that lined the walls of the small chamber.

"Buffy," Legolas repeated, his soft voice naught more than a tentative whisper as he settled lightly on the bed beside the emaciated slayer, one pale hand reaching forward to gently cup her cheek in his palm, turning her face towards him. "Buffy, it is time to waken," he murmured as his thumb swept over her cool skin, the rest of the world falling away as her eye lashes began to flutter. "Come now. The darkness has had you long enough," he urged as the dark lashes finally lifted to reveal two green orbs that he remembered well - eyes that showed none of the failings of her body as they locked upon him with a familiar intensity.

"Legolas?" Buffy whispered, his name a quiet breath of air as she paused to run a pink tongue over her cracked lips, eyes sliding closed before locking on him in confusion. "Legolas, what... how did you get here?" she asked as she tried to shift in the bed - and found that she hadn't the energy to do more than form these small words. Two days had already come and gone since the human healer's death, and yet despite the man's brittle assurances, a two-day reprieve had done little to aid in her recovery. Then again, perhaps that had something to do with the daily brutalities that Sugha visited upon her when the EBID became bored, tired, angry, happy... or hell, if the sun happened to be shining. There didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to the daily punishments, and unlike Vashnak, the fact that she didn't have the strength to fight back didn't seem to bother the orc-turned-elf in the slightest. "How-"

"A stranger gave word of your location," Legolas interrupted with a small, grim frown as he placed his fingers over her lips, silencing her questions as he glanced furtively towards the far wall where Elladan and Elrohir continued to stand guard over the _Mornedhil_ that had unwittingly led them straight to Buffy's chambers.

"A stranger," Buffy returned as she followed Legolas' gaze to the twin sons of Elrond and their captive, her eyes widening only slightly as she took in Sugha's taut form pressed between the tall elves. But while a small part of her couldn't help but feel a fierce wave of satisfaction at seeing the burning anger in the EBID's eyes, or at the small drop of blood that colored the tip of the sword that was pressed against her neck, the larger part of her was already dismissing her tormentor as her gaze swung back to the gray eyes of the two whose faces had faded from her memory long ago. Elladan and Elrohir. Her companions... her friends? Yet if that was true, why wouldn't they meet her eyes? Why did their gray eyes flicker in her direction only to look past when they caught her eyes? She thought that perhaps they were her friends once. There certainly had been camaraderie between them - laughing, joking, and maybe even understanding as they talked of Lothlrien, as she rescued Elladan from the mouth of the warg, or as they laughed at her complaints at fording the different rivers. They had been all of that once... but not now. Not any longer, Buffy realized with a sudden wash of understanding.

"We left the next morning and traveled as swiftly as our horses would carry us," Legolas assured as Buffy's eyes slowly drifted back until they were once more locked with his own. Yet in those brief few moments where her gaze had wandered, something had changed in them - some understanding reached as his brow furrowed in confusion at the sadness that radiated from those simple green orbs. "We came as soon as we were able."

"Why?" Buffy returned, the word a tired, curt demand for an answer that she already knew - one that she had guessed just by looking at Elladan and Elrohir. "Why did you come?" she clarified, her eyes searching Legolas' for something - perhaps guilt at what she knew his task to be, but as his eyes flashed with hurt at her tired sigh, she found herself tiring of this game. Tiring of all games. It didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. She had been in this room too long, lost in shadows for a time, only to find her way back for the end, no matter what that end would be. She would be the slayer that Giles had raised her to be, and she would accept her fate with better grace than when she was sixteen and fulfilling an ancient prophecy, and yet with more fire and strength than when she had abandoned everything two years ago to be free. Even if it was for just a few minutes more, Buffy was determined to be the slayer that Giles had always intended her to be.

"A few days ago I would have thought that you were nothing more than a vision come to torment me," Buffy admitted with a small, sad smile as she looked into eyes that were so very old - ancient. "Just another part of my madness. But I'm not mad any longer," she continued with what could have been a shrug if she had only the energy to do more than blink wearily at the elf that still cradled her cheek in his warm hand. "Tired, yes. Hurting, without a doubt. But quite, quite sane," she assured as her smile began to fracture. "Which is why we both know why you were really sent."

"Buffy-"

"The root of all evil on my world," Buffy interrupted, speaking over Legolas' quiet entreaty with silent determination, "once told me that if you're going to be a general, you need to be able to make difficult decisions regardless of cost. I think that in this case, Evil may have been right."

"I did not-"

"They sent you to kill me," Buffy interrupted once more, her breathless words carrying all of the strength that she still possessed, her eyes burning into his own. "They sent you to kill me so I couldn't hurt anyone else."

"Buffy, I-"

"And they were right," she continued, speaking over the elf that was becoming more agitated with each interruption. "If I had the strength to do it myself, I would have long before this... I tried to make it right," Buffy whispered, her eyes briefly losing their focus before she firmly pushed those dark thoughts away. "If I were in your position, I would do the same thing. I _have_ done the same thing, many times to the people that I loved most. I shoved a sword through Anya's heart because she was hurting people, and I tried to kill my best friend to stop her from doing the same thing just a few months before that. I even sent the man I loved to Hell in order to make things right," Buffy whispered, forcing each word past a throat that was tightening with each admission. "I've done it all before, no matter how wrong it was, and for some reason, it seems that this time you drew the lucky straw, so let's just-"

"I volunteered," Legolas stated, his clear voice finally riding over Buffy's long enough to silence her rambled words. While he had never heard the unusual expression before, there was a saying that was similar enough for him to understand her meaning - yet as soon as the words left his mouth, he immediately began to berate himself that out of everything that Buffy had said, that would be the one thing that he corrected her on. For the smallest moment, a flicker of betrayal could be seen in her eyes before Buffy smiled weakly at him - a smile that was entirely lacking in anything but saddened acceptance.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Buffy asked as her gaze slid back to the twins, silent and still as they watched the exchange with impassioned faces. For a moment, she felt something bitter and hard rise in her throat, making her breath hiss between parted lips as she resolutely turned away from those blank faces. "A wise man once said that life's a bitch and then you die - two times already, in my case, and from what I hear, the third time's the charm. So let's just get this show on the road. You may not be getting any older, but I am. I don't-"

Eyes narrowing upon the small slayer, Legolas felt his patience begin to wane, even as he became hyper-aware of the hard blade of his dagger where it pressed against his thigh. Everything she spoke was truth, and yet... why did it feel so-

_Startled, he quickly rose from his crouch as the small chamber fell away to be replaced by the vast fields that spread out from the base of Minas Tirith, his friends and allies standing beside him in a world that was shrouded in shadows. Aragorn and Gimli stood to either side of him, dressed for battle with their faces tense and set, with Faramir and omer to Aragorn's right and Elladan and Elrohir to Gimli's left. Behind them stood the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan, the elves of Ithilien, the dwarves from Aglarond, as well as the Dnedain from the North - and all stood with their backs to the White City while their faces looked forward._

_Turning, he quickly cast his sharp sight across the vast fields and looked upon the dim makings of a dark army. It was an army borne out of shadows, one that was lined with the bent, twisted forms of Orcs and the tall, graceful lines of the Mornedhel, the Dark Elves that were arraigned in armor and weapons of battle._

_Suddenly, the troops around him came alive as they began to shift uneasily, their hands tightening around their weapons as their voices carried softly to one another. Curious, he turned towards the shrouded army of darkness and felt his breath hitch in his throat as exactly halfway between their forces and the enemy stood Buffy's small, cloaked figure, her back toward him while her face was turned towards the darkness._

_"Bring her down, Legolas," Aragorn whispered, breaking the terse silence as his old friend looked towards him with gray eyes that were tinged with sorrow. "You know you must."_

_ And he did. It was the same message that had been driven into him for months, and so it was without hesitation that he automatically reached for his longbow, draped as always across his back - only to still his hands as something deep within his heart bade for him to pause._

_ "Kill her!" Aragorn hissed, prompting the elf once more as he quickly fitted the thin shaft of an arrow to the bow string with an ease borne from over five centuries of experience. Without thought he pulled the string taut and held it against his cheek, his eyes never straying from the cloaked figure._

_And once more he paused - yet this time it was more from confusion than anything else as he thought he saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. But when he turned, he saw naught but Gimli and the twin sons of Elrond._

_"Kill her Legolas, before all our hard work is lost!" Aragorn urged, his voice now becoming tinged with panic as his hard expression softened into the friend that Legolas had long known - had long traveled with in the wilds of this world._

_Eyes turning back to his target, Legolas' steeled himself for the task that was set before him, waiting for his next exhalation when he would end the life of the companion that he had so briefly known... only to remember the darkness that had last encroached upon this moment - a darkness that had swept over this land with Buffy's death. And in that moment, with the bow string held taut against his cheek, once more he saw the flicker to his right, catching his eye and causing him to turn fully from his target... only to find that his target had moved._

_Buffy no longer stood before him, balancing precariously between the darkness and the light, but beside him, sword in hand as she stood tall and strong between Elladan and Elrohir, prepared for battle._

_And in that moment, he was finally in accordance with the message that his vision carried, for now, it had merged until it was one with that in his heart._


	22. Chapter 22

**Equinoxium: Chapter 22  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Buffy's mind was mired in concern and confusion, her green eyes locked upon Legolas' vacant blue gaze. She had been mid-plea when she sensed that something was amiss, and her eyes lifted to see the glazed look in the eyes of her friend and companion of a time long ago. Frowning, Buffy felt her arguments falter, her feeble attempts at nonchalance when speaking of her own death falling away as her weary mind took in this new puzzle. She had seen this vacant expression many times before, but then it had always been when the fair-haired elf had been sleeping, and while it hadn't been uncommon to see Legolas drift off when he was sitting up, or sometimes even walking, to have him do so now, in the midst of talking about her imminent death was disturbing. Not that she had long to puzzle over his ill-timed nap.

"Sugha," Vashnak's unmistakable voice called out as the unlocked door was suddenly thrust open, "the _shara_ healer said that we must wait at least-" he broke off as the torch light from the hall beyond spread into the room, illuminating the strange tableau set before him. Pausing on the threshold with Dergu and Guol crowded behind him, Vashnak looked to where Sugha was pinned against the stone wall by familiar twin elves, her gaze furious. Eyes narrowing, he then turned towards the large bed, his gaze sweeping briefly over Buffy's horrified features before they became locked upon Legolas' unmoving form.

Everyone fell silent in surprise and disbelief, and it was in this moment that Legolas finally returned to himself from the vision that had once more caught him unawares. Immediately his eyes took in Vashnak's dark gaze as the moment stretched for an eternity - an eternity that was ended as Vashnak's companions stepped forward, their swords sliding free of their sheaths with the swish of metal against thick leather, even as Elrohir released the _elleth_ to his brother's care, his own sword appearing in hand as he came to stand between his twin and the unwelcome visitors.

In that moment, Legolas realized his costly mistake as his eyes darted frantically around the room. First his gaze lighted on the forgotten keys, abandoned on the stone floor before the open, unlocked door. From there his wide blue eyes turned to the two enemy swords raised against Elrohir's single blade, before sliding to the elder twin as Elladan shifted his grip on the treacherous she-elf so that she was held against his chest, his blade resting against her throat. Finally he turned his gaze back to Vashnak, who was watching him with cold, furious eyes - eyes that shifted until they were narrowed possessively upon Buffy, who lay unmoving beside him. Following the dark-elf's gaze, Legolas tried to read the emotions that clouded Buffy's green eyes - a range of emotions that shifted from anger to loathing, hatred, despair, acceptance, and... fear. Fear that twisted his heart as she resolutely closed her eyes, hiding her swirling emotions from his searching gaze.

"Step away from her," Vashnak ordered, his clear voice cutting through Legolas' tumbled thoughts as the fair-haired elf turned from Buffy to look upon the one who was responsible for her abduction, her suffering, and so many weeks of worried speculation. "Step away from her!" the dark-elf repeated, barking the command as his own sword was leveled in their direction.

"Legolas-" Elladan began, his voice carrying a hint of warning - and yet it was a warning that was not needed, for he knew as well as the older twin that by heeding Vashnak's demand, Legolas was as good as handing over their own lives. They could not bargain with the dark-_elleth's_ life, for despite appearances, these were not true elves. They were orcs that wore the faces of his kin. And orcs, as they all knew, would not think twice before spilling the _elleth's_ blood in order to reach them, no matter her rank or high-standing. These creatures would be no different.

Thus, with no other option open to him, Legolas did the only thing he could as his left hand fell from Buffy's cheek and wrapped around her bare, angular shoulder in a crushing grip, alternately dragging and lifting her towards him as the blankets fell away from her torso until the top of her back was pressed against his chest... while his dagger materialized in his right hand, the edge of the blade pressed tight against her pale throat. "Leave this room now or I shall spill the blood you crave in one crimson torrent," Legolas whispered as his arm tightened around Buffy's slender frame - a frame that felt so fragile in his arms, as though if he squeezed much harder, she would shatter into nothing.

"You would kill her?"

"I would end her torment and prevent you from using her any longer," Legolas corrected as he pressed the blade until its sharp edge bit into Buffy's soft skin, breaking the thin covering and allowing a trickle of blood to line the surface before trailing down until it stained the edge of the pale garment that she wore.

It was a gamble, and they all knew it. Yet the only course of action was to decide who among them bluffed and who would call that bluff... and what the ultimate price would be. For Vashnak, every option seemed ill and he stood frozen in indecision as Guol and Dergu shifted impatiently beside him. If he wagered that the Elves' mission had been to save their friend, then the one with golden-hair spoke false. Vashnak could call his brethren down upon the three and their prize would remain safe... and yet there was something in the fair being's blue eyes that said different. There was something in those eyes that said that this Elf would kill their prize if his hand was forced, which left only one question. If Vashnak and his companions retreated, would her life still be valued or would she be discarded as may have been the wont of their mission?

Hissing silently, Vashnak hesitated a moment more, his eyes probing Legolas' as he desperately searched for some sign that the elf would really kill his hostage, if only to set her free. A sign that he never found, leaving Vashnak no choice as he was forced to rely upon the only course of action that offered at least a glimmer of hope that in the end, they could reclaim what was theirs. Vashnak slowly lowered his sword, indicating for his companions to do the same as he began backing towards the open door. "You will never keep her," he murmured as Elrohir cautiously stepped forward, lifting the abandoned keys from the stone floor. "And if you harm her, I promise that you will not live to see the light of day," he continued as he stepped into the hall, his eyes never straying from Legolas as the younger twin began edging the door closed. "She is mine," he stated as the door finally clicked shut, echoing with a harsh finality.

Quickly lowering his sword long enough to begin sorting through the many keys, Elrohir desperately searched for the one that would finally lock the heavy door. Sighing quietly, Legolas felt his own hammering heartbeat begin to slow as he looked down upon the golden head that was cradled against his chest, only to realize that Buffy still lay tense and unyielding against him, not daring to move against the blade that was still pressed against her throat. Cursing softly, the fair-haired elf lowered the knife and gently eased Buffy back onto the bed beside him, his eyes guiltily taking in the knick that trickled small drops of blood down her pale skin. Reaching forward to brush away the crimson stains, Legolas briefly lifted his eyes to Buffy's - and felt his hand as well as his heart freeze as he found a fearful acceptance in Buffy's green eyes, her gaze still locked upon the knife that lay on the bed beside her.

"Come Legolas, we must hurry!" Elrohir urged as he finally found the right key, the old tumbler falling into place with a clunk that was hardly reassuring.

Yet Legolas was oblivious to his friends' growing anxiety as he, too, looked upon the knife that was stained with Buffy's blood, disgust rising within him as he seized the hilt and wiped the blade clean upon the bed's sheets before shoving the weapon back into the sheath on his belt. "You have nothing to fear," he murmured as he reached forward to lay his hand upon her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes as he tried to ignore the way that she flinched at his touch.

His gaze drifted down to where the heavy blankets had fallen away, noting for the first time that she was no longer wearing her strange leather clothing, but rather a very thin, gauzy dressing gown that must have done little to ward away the room's chill. "You are cold," he observed as he noted the tremors that shook her painfully thin frame, his hand reaching down to draw the covers up, only to freeze as as his eyes locked upon her right arm that now lay uncovered. Instantly he felt anger well within him as his eyes took in the bloodied bandage that wrapped her slender wrist - a wrist that at once seemed to depict everything that had gone so terribly wrong these past months. It portrayed an image of suffering, pain, weakness and fragility; long periods of waiting, fear, loneliness and abandonment; everything that the strong young woman he had known should never have been forced to endure.

Turning away from the sight, Legolas hastily drew the blanket over her slender frame, hiding the grisly wound as his eyes turned to hers - only to find that her fear had been replaced by a shame so great that it burned him with her glittering green gaze. It was as though by seeing her damaged wrist, he had somehow seen something dark and wretched about herself; something horrible that filled her with self-loathing. And yet whatever was the cause, they hadn't the time to discuss it as Elladan once more called for him to hurry.

Forcing a grim smile for the small blonde, Legolas leaned down and lifted Buffy's swaddled form into his arms, much to her and the twins' evident surprise and confusion, he noted, as he turned to meet their startled gaze. "Elrohir, check in there to see if you can find her clothing or her sword," he instructed with a quick nod towards a chest that sat against a far wall, urgency claiming him once more.

For a moment, the younger twin hesitated, his eyes turning questioningly to his brother before he slowly moved to do as directed. Yet Elladan couldn't hold his brother's silence as his arm tightened around his captive's taut frame, his grey eyes searching the blue of his friend. "Legolas, what are you doing?" he asked, his gaze shifting to where Buffy's golden head, just barely visible from amidst the pooling of blankets, rested against the archer's chest.

"What does it look like I am doing?" Legolas returned as Elrohir lifted Buffy's folded garments from the trunk, his head quickly shaking to show that there was no sign of the sword of Rohan that she had carried for so long.

"She is a threat to us all," Elladan persisted as the bundle in Legolas' arms shifted at his words, proving that though weakened, Buffy still followed this heated exchange. In that moment, the elder twin felt a flash of shame as he briefly caught one piercing green eye - and yet that shame was overwhelmed by the love he held for all of those who could be threatened by the brave young woman he had come to know and respect over the course of their travels south. Frowning, he watched as her eyes became shadowed... and yet he found no accusation in her gaze. Instead, he found naught but agreement. She understood what he said, even if Legolas did not, and yet they both knew that there was nothing either of them could do. Buffy could barely keep her eyes open, let alone have the strength to stand against Legolas' stubbornness, and despite the misgivings that warred within his heart, Elladan knew that he could never act against his friend. Unfortunately, it was a truth that Legolas knew as well. "You know what she carries!" he hissed as his hand tightened around the dark-_elleth_ that stood before him.

"She is not the threat," Legolas returned as his blue eyes shifted to the locked door before dismissing it out of hand. There would be no escape by that portal. "She's Balance," he continued as Elrohir, coming to the same conclusion, moved on silent feet towards the drapes that stretched from floor to ceiling against one wall, Buffy's clothing clutched in one hand while the other became tangled in the heavy fabric, pulling the drapery aside to reveal two tall, grime coated glass doors that were swathed by the darkness outside. "I understand that now. She has to play her part," Legolas stated as the younger twin fumbled with the small handles, twisting them uselessly before using the hilt of his sword to shatter one of the massive sheets of glass, allowing a torrent of cool, fresh air to sweep in the room, carrying with it the roar of the Falls of Rauros.

Thin lips twisting in a dark scowl, Elladan forced his captive to step forward with him, his dark hair billowing past his shoulders as his eyes narrowed upon his obstinate friend. "Perhaps," he allowed, calling loudly to be heard over the sound of the falls as his brother knocked away a few more shards of glass before disappearing behind the madly flapping curtains, "but none of us will be able to play any part at this rate! Even if she could somehow make the climb down to the shore, which we all know she cannot, there is still no way that she could survive the swim back. The water is too cold for even the healthiest of mortal bodies, and she, my friend, is far from healthy. She would die of exposure before we even reached the shore!"

"You will not even make it that far, with or without her," his captive stated, the clear, light tones of her voice cutting through the roar of the crashing water as she shifted in Elladan's grasp. "Every orc and dark elf within this keep will be waiting to shoot you down. You will-"

Frowning down upon the dark head that was pressed against him, Elladan shifted his knife until it bit more deeply into the pale skin of her neck, effectively silencing her cold words as his heart warred with his mind. Even though he _knew_ that the creature was evil, she still looked the fair part of any elf maiden of Imladris. It went against everything in his being to threaten one of his kin, an act that had not been seen in this world since the time of the kin-slaying, ages before his birth. "And what will we do with her?" he asked, grimly indicating the seemingly docile creature.

Eyes narrowing upon the dark-haired creature, Legolas gently shifted Buffy in his arms. "She is _Mornedhel_," he reminded, as though reading his friend's mind as he looked into the dark-elf's eyes - eyes that were devoid of the light of his kindred. "Her fair face is but a mask to hide what lies underneath, for she is an orc, through and through. Do with her what you would do with any orc captive."

"Personally, I'm all about slitting _her_ wrist and letting her see how it feels to bleed to death," Buffy quietly suggested, her voice muffled by the heavy blanket as the edges of her green eyes peeked out to look at one of the EBIDs that had been responsible for much of her torment. And yet despite the harsh words, Buffy's voice lacked any of her usual bite, and her body was too wearied to really work up even a glimmer of emotion over the prospect of seeing the bitch die in the most slow and cruel of ways. She was just too tired to care anymore. About any of it, from her life to her death. All that mattered was that she was safe and warm for the first time in God only knew how long. It didn't even matter when Sugha began to snarl at her, spewing what had to be the worst curses the EBID could imagine in her screeching black tongue - curses that were abruptly cut off when Elladan drew his knife in a swift arc over Sugha's neck, ending her life in a flood of red blood. "Or that works just as well," Buffy murmured, blinking tiredly as the elder twin released the dead weight with a murmur of disgust as he moved to wipe the blood from his gleaming blade.

Shrugging dispassionately, Legolas turned from the bloodied corpse and looked to the dark night that flickered into sight behind the madly blowing curtains. Though he hated to admit it, the dark-elf was right in that they had no where to go - especially no where in which Buffy could follow. Even if she had been whole and healthy, Elladan spoke true for her mortal body could never endure the freezing waters of the Anduin as they flowed through the lake of Nen Hithoel and then over the Falls of Rauros. She would die within minutes, and yet... what other choice did they have?

"Elladan, Legolas! You must come and see!"

Startled, Legolas instinctively clutched Buffy closer to his chest as he turned to the dark, stone balcony, his smooth brow furrowing in confusion as Elrohir stepped through the tangle of cloth and beckoned them to the open doorway.

"What is it, brother?" Elladan demanded as he stepped past Legolas - only to pause in the doorway, thereby blocking Legolas' view of whatever Elrohir had discovered.

"Our way home," the younger twin returned as Legolas finally edged around Elladan - and found himself similarly frozen as he looked upon the large eagle that was perched on the thin balustrade.

"Lord Gwahir," Legolas murmured, his keen blue eyes sweeping over the mighty Lord of the Eagles, and then looking past the massive bird to the two other grand eagles that circled above the crashing waters of the Anduin as they flowed over the Falls of Rauros below. "I don't understand," he admitted as his blue eyes turned searchingly towards his friends.

"It seems that upon arriving in Minas Tirith and finding his ward missing, Master Thoron of Mirkwood beseeched the aid of the eagles in finding his wayward prince," Elrohir supplied with a smug grin as he gestured grandly to the waiting creature.

"Yes," Gwahir agreed, his head tilting to the side as he inspected the three elves shrewdly before jutting his grand beak towards Legolas' small bundle - catching Buffy's wide green eyes peering through the blanket flaps. "Though he spoke of three missing Elflings, the sons of Elrond, and Thranduil's youngest, and mentioned not a Daughter of Man," the great eagle stated as he tilted his head to the other side.

Stiffening reflexively at being referred to as a child, and realizing that this was most likely Thoron's doing, Legolas ignored the urge to correct the grand eagle and instead swallowed his pride as he held Buffy tighter against him. "She is very light, my Lord, and would be but a small burden if you would consent to carry us both," he entreated as the great eagle seemed to consider Buffy once more. "Please, Lord Gwahir," he whispered as he clutched Buffy against him. "I will not leave her behind."

For a moment more, silence reigned as Gwahir flapped his wings to either side, his feathers ruffling in the cold, stinging breeze. Slowly, he turned his head to look to his companions who glided silently over the crashing falls before turning back to the waiting elves, his dark, beady eyes locking upon the fair-haired elf that so closely resembled his father. "Thranduil was long a friend of the eagles," he stated as he tucked one wing against his side. "For the sake of his friendship, though he is departed forever from these shores, I will bear this weight."

"Thank you, my Lord," Legolas murmured as he bowed his head before the mighty eagle. "_Hannon-le_."

* * *

Upon Gwahir's sleek back, the journey that had taken Legolas and the sons of Elrond two full days was completed within hours. They had stopped upon the ridges of the Western shore long enough to send Drlum and the other two horses back to Minas Tirith before they were once more permitted upon the backs of the great eagles, the ground swiftly falling away beneath them. Not surprisingly, Buffy had been awake for very little of the magnificent ride before her weariness proved to be too great. Upon a bed of soft, warm feathers, her weakened body finally betrayed her as her eyes fell shut and as her quick, shallow breathing deepened in sleep. Legolas had gently tucked the stolen blanket over her tousled, golden head - protecting her mortal body from the freezing wind as he lay half atop her small frame, using his own slight weight to anchor her upon Gwahir's back.

Having been sighted by the sharp eyes of the Tower's Guard, it was with the mid-morning sun shining down upon them that the great eagles finally alighted upon the open courtyard of Minas Tirith, within the proud city's seventh gate to a welcoming committee of many Men, a Dwarf, and an Elf that was openly glowering as Legolas lightly slid from Gwahir's tall back. Briefly turning from his friends, Legolas nodded to the grand eagle. "I thank you, my Lord. "Your assistance could not have come at a more desperately needed hour," he murmured as he gently reached up and pulled Buffy into his arms, careful not to jostle or waken her.

"You are welcome, young Thranduilion," Gwahir returned with a small incline of his elegant head. "And may Manw's grace go with you both," he added as he looked down upon Buffy's sleeping form before stretching his great wings and lifting into the bright morning sky, his two companions joining him seconds later.

Sighing softly, Legolas glanced at Elladan and Elrohir before turning toward the White Tower, feeling his friends' eyes upon him and his burden as he slowly moved across the withered winter grasses, brown beneath his booted feet. Slowly the friends formed a small circle as Aragorn reached forward and pulled back a corner of the blanket, revealing Buffy's pale, still features.

"Is she dead?" owyn asked, her short words belying her concern for the stranger as the White Lady impatiently brushed at an errant strand of blonde hair that had blown loose of her elaborate twist, her pale cheeks stained pink from the brisk wind.

"Nay, she lives," Aragorn returned as he pressed a warm hand against her cool cheek, his face impassive even as he eyed the young woman with both mistrust and wonder. He had met her for all of a few minutes many weeks ago, when she was delirious no less, and yet... the girl that was swaddled within the heavy blanket in Legolas' arms looked little like the distraught young woman from before. Then she had been petite and admittedly small, but now? Now her stature was further diminished, her skin pale and bruised by abuse and neglect. This pitiful creature couldn't look less like the warrior that his brothers and Legolas had described. She looked sickly and fragile.

She looked like death.

"She is not dead," he repeated softly as he looked over the young woman with the critical eye of a healer.

"Why not?" Thoron countered from beside the queen, his furious eyes darting back and forth between his prince and the creature that was responsible for bringing evil once more into his world.

"Thoron," Arwen rebuked as she gently clasped the elder elf's arm, silently bidding him to hold his tongue as a fierce gust of winter wind buffeted their small group.

Ignoring his father's advisor, Legolas instead turned his eyes beseechingly to his friends. "She is hurt," he murmured as he turned from Aragorn, finding caution in Faramir's serious countenance and concern in Gimli's as the dwarf quietly inspected Buffy's pale face. "She is very, very weak and needs help. She needs the healing touch of a king," he added as he turned his entreaty to his longtime friend, trying to catch Aragorn's gaze with his own as the king lifted an arm that had fallen free of the tight bindings of the blanket - an arm that was pale and slender - and heavily bandaged with stained wrappings.

Face becoming grim, Aragorn unbound the poorly bandaged wrist to reveal a long, straight wound that ran along the pale underside of her wrist, the edges jagged and inflamed as it seeped crimson drops as though tears on her pale skin. "She has lost a lot of blood," he murmured as he gently cradled the wounded appendage in his calloused hands, his gray eyes lifting to pierce Legolas' with his quiet questions.

"Yes, we noticed that as well," Elladan responded dryly as Elrohir shifted beside him.

"The orcs are now an army," the younger twin added, his expression as dark as his brother's.

"A very large army that is bolstered by hundreds of the _Mornedhel_," Elladan finished, his grim gaze returning to Buffy's features, smoothed and serene in her slumber.

Sighing, Aragorn tucked Buffy's hand into the blanket, adjusting the wrappings to hide her bared skin from the fierce wind. "She is a threat to us all," he murmured, unwittingly repeating Elladan's same words as another fierce gust pulled at the long strands of his black hair, spattered with strands of gray.

"She's not the threat," Legolas stubbornly countered as he clutched Buffy more firmly against his chest, as though he could somehow protect her from the worried and baseless accusations of those he loved most. "Not anymore."

"Her blood is still capable of transforming orc into elf, is it not?" Faramir returned, his brow arching ever so slightly at the fair-haired elf.

"But she is no longer with the orcs. She is with us now," Legolas protested, his blue eyes piercing Faramir's gray, burning in their intensity until the other man was forced to look away.

"For now, yes, she is," Aragorn agreed with a small shake of his head. "But that does not mean that she will be forever."

"Yes, it can and it does," Legolas corrected, his voice growing cold and hard.

"Lad, not even you can assure that," Gimli sighed, finally voicing his own thoughts as he weathered the betrayal that flashed in his friend's eyes. "No one has that kind of power."

Sighing in frustration, Legolas turned away from the worried eyes of his friends, his sharp gaze looking past the White Tree of Gondor and over the embrasure that stretched out over the city of Minas Tirith and the Pelennor Fields beyond. Though he was loathe to admit it, Gimli was right in that he couldn't say with any certainly what the future would bring. If he was Lord Elrond or the Lady Galadriel, perhaps, but he was neither. He possessed no gift of foresight and he never had... at least, not in the truest sense.

Legolas slowly turned back to his friends, his eyes meeting those of each of his closest companions in turn. "If you must trust in something, then trust in this," he murmured as he held Buffy closer to his body, taking comfort in her slight weight. "Just as there was purpose in her coming here, so there is purpose in her remaining in our world. She will fight with us. My... my dreams have shown me this," he admitted, his eyes seeking out any sign of disbelief or incredulity in his friends. And yet... he found none, not even in the eyes of Thoron. Oh, there was plenty in the way of grim acceptance to go around, but on his word alone his friends would believe his promise - although what good the sleeping girl in his arms could do against what her blood had created, that was still to be determined.

Aragorn's grim features finally fractured into a small, tired smile. "Very well, my friend. Let us take your charge to the Houses of Healing, and then Ioreth and I shall have a better look at her injuries."

Returning his friend's smile, Legolas gratefully dipped his head in thanks. "_Hannon-le, mellon-nin_," he murmured, the bitter wind catching his words and tossing them carelessly about the open courtyard. "_Hannon-le_ a thousand times over," he stated as the group fractured, owyn, Gimli and Thoron falling into step beside him and Aragorn as the twins turned back to the Citadel with the others.

"And while King Elessar and the Healers are busy with her," Thoron added, his voice frosty as he moved effortlessly beside Legolas, "you and I, my Lord, shall have a few words. Several, in fact."

Sighing grimly, Legolas ignored Gimli and Aragorn's smirks as the Lady owyn hid her mirth behind one pale hand. "Of that, my friend, I was never in doubt."


	23. Chapter 23

**Equinoxium: Chapter 23  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Like the slow burning of darkness into light, Buffy felt the shrouds of sleep slowly slip from her weary mind, leaving her thoughts cloaked in a clinging haze as she drifted in that place that lies just between the sleeping and waking world. In this quiet place she found that her mind was blissfully empty, still tethered to her shadowed dreams even as her body wakened to the world. She felt the soft press of a mattress beneath her - a feeling that was wholly familiar, and yet... she was warm. This warmth was alien to her, for reasons that she couldn't quite remember, and yet she reveled in it as she felt sunlight fall upon her face.

Sunlight.

For some reason, she thought that it had been a long time since she had last seen the sun. A long, long time. Although why this should be, she couldn't quite say. She was from California, after all. Sunnydale, no less. Yet like the soft mattress, such worries didn't matter in this place. All that mattered was that she was comfortable and warm, bathed in soothing light that dispelled the lingering shadows.

Shadows.

Eyes flying open, Buffy's hazy mind was catapulted awake by the simple reminder of all that had passed. And yet even as her eyes watered at the sight of so much bright, beautiful sunny light when before there had always been the smoky, shifting light of torches, she found her heavy body tensing at the unfamiliar room around her. During the course of her imprisonment, she had become accustomed to the small, empty chamber that was roughly hewn from stone, and had found herself almost comforted by the familiar monotony. But now? Now she felt glimmers of fear and uncertainty as her wide eyes fell upon an unfamiliar white-washed ceiling that led towards walls of smooth, beautifully crafted stone that shone with that same white sheen. Yet these walls were not monastic in their design as their perfect lines were interrupted by shelf after bulging wooden shelf filled with bowls and canisters and wooden boxes of assorted leaves and powders that combined into a wonderful smell that was at once soothing and far different from the rank smells that she had become accustomed to in her shuttered prison. For a time, she had come to believe that there was nothing beyond the same boring sights, horrid smells, and ringing sounds that had remained unchanged in all of the time that she had been prisoner. But here? Everything was different here, and despite the welcome sunlight and the wonderful smells, Buffy felt that small, familiar spike of fear pierce through her weakened muscles. Something in her chest tightened, and with a gasp she tried to push her heavy body from the soft mattress - only to still a moment later as a gentle hand pressed against her shoulder.

"_Hodo_, Buffy, lie still. You are safe and amongst friends."

Breath sighing between parted lips, Buffy fell back against the pillow as she turned her head to the side, squinting against the light from a large window that was unshuttered against the shining sun. "Legolas?" she murmured as the elf shifted in his chair, the lithe figure moving back until his lean frame blocked the bright sunlight and bringing his smiling face into relief. "Legolas, where am I?" the slayer questioned as she once more looked at the strange room.

"In the Houses of Healing in the city of Minas Tirith of Gondor," another voice replied, this one much deeper. Turning, Buffy looked past the fair-haired Elf to the well-dressed man that stood in the open doorway. He was tall with dark hair that was peppered with gray, his expression serious, and Buffy struggled to remember where she had seen him before. As though reading her mind, the man stepped further into the room, his care-worn face softening into a gentle smile. "I do not believe that we have had the opportunity for a proper introduction. I am Elessar, King of Gondor, and you now rest within the protection of my city. But my friends call me Aragorn, and I hope you will do the same," he added with a small nod.

Glancing quickly at Legolas' reassuring smile, Buffy turned back to the tall man - a man that, to her great dismay, she was beginning to remember where they had last met, flashes of his concerned face flickering amidst the tangled emotions that threatened to swallow her that morning in Edoras. An encounter that probably hadn't shown her in her best light. "Buffy Summers," she returned with a small, rueful smile. At least he had the good graces to look at her as if she _wasn't_ stark raving mad, as that day most likely suggested. "But you can just call me Buffy," she added as she went to lift her hand in order to shake his, only to be promptly reminded of the fact that at the moment, such simple measures were far, far beyond her body's meager capabilities.

Sharp eyes catching this fact, Aragorn's features darkened as he quietly cleared his throat, catching her attention once more. "It has only been a few hours since you arrived and I am afraid that you are still very weak. I expect that it will take some time before you regain your former strength - although Elladan and Elrohir assure me that you heal far quicker than most of the race of Men."

At the mention of the dark-haired elves, Buffy felt her heart grow heavy as she turned questioningly to Legolas, remembering all too well the warnings that the sons of Elrond had rightfully given about the very real danger that she posed to them all. "Where... where are the twins? And Mirdan?" she asked as she held Legolas' piercing gaze, catching the smallest flicker of... something, before the archer looked away.

"Elladan and Elrohir are needed elsewhere in the city," he murmured, watching as Buffy's eyes dimmed at what they both knew to be a falsehood. Then again, it wasn't as though he could come right out and admit that both twins had refused to help see to her injuries. Aragorn had dismissed his brothers without further inquiry, but Legolas hadn't missed the swirling emotions that had briefly shone in their gray eyes. Features creasing, he looked to Aragorn before forcing a bright smile. "But worry not. Though Mirdan has been in Ithilien for many weeks now, I am sure that he will travel to Minas Tirith once he learns that you are returned to us," Legolas added, forcing his voice to be light as he smiled at the petite slayer. "We have all been very worried about you."

Snorting at his words, Buffy rolled her eyes in response as she tried to shift her leaden body on the soft mattress. "Yeah, I'm sure that Thoron was just devastated to hear that I was missing," she retorted, causing Legolas to smile ruefully in return. And yet, the elf was spared from devising some sort of response as another person poked a head into the room.

"Aragorn, Faramir is looking for you and Legolas," the woman stated, her eyes turning from Man to Elf - and then freezing upon Buffy, obviously startled to see that she was already awake.

"owyn, please come inside," Legolas urged as he beckoned his friend forward. "I would like for you to meet Buffy. Buffy, this is Lady owyn."

"Hey," Buffy murmured to the woman's quiet greetings, feeling her smile dampen somewhat when she noticed the unease that glittered in the older woman's eyes.

"owyn, would you mind waiting with Buffy while we see to Faramir?" Legolas asked as he squeezed Buffy's hand before standing.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Buffy quickly assured as owyn looked longingly towards the door. "I'm perfectly capable of-"

"Nonsense," Aragorn assured with a bright, disarming smile. "I'm sure that our White Lady would not mind taking a moment to keep you company."

"No, of course not," owyn returned with a brittle smile that neither Legolas or Aragorn seemed to notice. Nodding their thanks, the two males slipped from the room - which left Buffy and the White Lady in a thickening silence.

Buffy discreetly eyed the older woman. She was tall and slender and looked to be in her early to mid-thirties with pale, flawless skin that shone in the afternoon light. Her blonde hair was a little lighter than Buffy's, the smooth, flaxen strands pulled back in a complex braid that twisted behind her head where it was secured by a dark blue jewel that matched the color of her long, incredibly embroidered dress. She was beautiful in the manner of a porcelain doll, and in a way that made Buffy feel even more detached from her normal strong, confident self as she looked down upon her unhealthy white, bruised arms and the plain shift she was wearing.

Buffy turned her eyes from her own discouraging appearance and froze as she noted that which she had missed on her initial appraisal. This woman was pregnant. Very, very pregnant. "When are you due?" Buffy asked, hitting on the first question that came to mind as she looked down at the woman's bulging middle - a growth that was deftly hidden by the dark tones of her dress.

"In a few weeks," owyn returned, her voice as stiff as her posture.

"Your first?" Buffy continued, forcing the conversation if for no other reason than to keep the silence at bay. It was a conversation that bore the awkwardness of two strangers striving to find a common ground, and yet it was more than that, Buffy realized as she met the woman's ice blue eyes that shone with unease. In addition to such standard awkwardness, this conversation also carried the added weight of fear - fear of herself and what her blood carried.

"My fifth," the older woman returned woodenly.

"Oh."

"Do... do you have any children?" owyn returned, evidently deciding that Buffy was right in that any conversation, no matter how stilted or forced, was truly better than silence.

Encouraged by this small effort on the pale lady's part, Buffy allowed a small smile to lift her lips - up until her mind processed her innocent question. "Me?" Buffy laughed, choking on the word as her eyes grew wide, boggling at the thought. "Oh no, definite no with the kids," she assured with a smile that suddenly seemed less pained or forced. "I had been taking care of my little sister, Dawn, for the last couple of years, and trust me when I say that was hard enough," Buffy admitted with a small shake of her head.

Curious despite herself, owyn slowly settled in Legolas' abandoned chair, easing her aching back and swollen ankles. "Where was your mother?" she asked as she unconsciously began rubbing the aching muscles in her lower back.

"Dead," Buffy explained, the word clipped as she forced a small, tight smile that did little to belie the abruptness of her answer. "I mean, she died - over two years ago," she corrected with a half-hearted attempt at a shrug.

"I am sorry for your loss," owyn returned, able to relate all too well to the grief that had briefly shone in the young woman's eyes. "I, too, lost my mother long ago. She succumbed to sickness after the death of my father."

"My mom had a brain tumor," Buffy offered, only to roll her eyes at the lady's look of confusion. "Cancer?" she tried again to owyn's further detriment. Sighing, Buffy curtly shook her head upon the soft pillow. "She got very sick and there was nothing the doctors, or rather, nothing that the _healers_ could do," she explained as simply as possible.

"Then surely you were not left alone to care for your sister. Did not your husband help you to see to her?"

"Oh no, no husband," Buffy quickly denied with equal vehemence as to the question about children, her mind briefly flitting to her rather short list of dismal failures when it came to relationships. Everyone she loved always ended up leaving her in the end, or so it seemed, and yet that was a topic worthy of a whole different conversation.

"Then you are not married," owyn surmised, only to have her pale cheeks darken with a blush. "Forgive me," she murmured with a gentle nod of her head. "I do not mean to pry, and really I have no right to speak so for I myself did not marry until I was four and twenty summers... and yet that is quite uncommon for those of the race of Men."

Smiling wryly at the older woman's words, Buffy nodded her agreement. "From what little I've seen of your world, it does seem that I'm quite the oddball around here," she admitted.

"So it's true then what they say?" the White Lady murmured, leaning ever so slightly forward as her intelligent blue eyes locked with Buffy's green. "You truly are from a different world?"

"Is that what they're saying?" Buffy returned, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused that she hadn't even had the chance to play secret identity gal before the cat was out of the bag.

"And you are a warrior - a chosen warrior on your world?" owyn persisted as she gazed thoughtfully upon Buffy's slender, bruised arms where they rested upon the soft white blankets.

Following owyn's curious gaze, Buffy suddenly had the urge to laugh as she looked upon arms that had to be hers, seeing as how they were attached to her shoulders, and yet felt alien to her body. These arms were pale and weak, while her arms had always been strong and glowing with youthful vitality. She had been a prisoner for so long, and the transformation from her previous strength to this weakness must have been gradual... and yet why did it feel as though it had happened overnight? Why did the sight of her arms lying so heavy and immobile beside her seem so strange and startling? "Not that you'd know it by looking at me now," Buffy snorted as she gave one long limb a testing twitch, another small smile pulling at her lips.

Yet it was a smile that owyn shared with the young woman as she settled back into the comfortable chair, her blue eyes softening. "I, too, am a warrior. A shield-maiden of Rohan, the country where my brother is king."

"Nice place, not a lot of trees," Buffy offered, giving up on her useless arms and causing owyn's smile to grow.

"Yet this is another peculiarity that we share, for it is uncommon in our world for a maiden to bear arms."

"So I've gathered," Buffy sighed, rolling her eyes as she thought back to Halbarad's incredulity at her ability to defend herself against the orcs, and the later shock and scandalized horror of the maids at the inn where they stayed in Rhosgobel. In that town of Men, Buffy had felt the part of a foreigner in distant lands - only worse, for it seemed that her very nature was taboo in this country. And yet as Buffy looked upon the proud tilt to owyn's pale chin and the determined shine in the older woman's clear gaze, the slayer couldn't help but feel as though that difference was lessened somehow in this woman. There was something that she recognized in the White Lady - and she had a pretty good idea of what it was. "So what makes you different? Why have you broken with tradition?"

For a moment, Buffy thought that the White Lady wouldn't answer as she turned her face to the bright sunshine, allowing it to warm her pale features. "My father lived and died by his sword," the older woman finally murmured, her voice sad and distant, "and long ago I swore to do the same. I would rather my death be delivered by the stroke of a blade then allow my body to slowly fade into night. I will not go so quietly," she finished as the door opened behind her.

Gaze softening, Buffy watched as owyn slowly raised herself from the straight-backed chair, one hand pressed against her bulging middle as she greeted Aragorn and Legolas' return with a serene smile and a soft word. Despite her wide girth, she then moved towards the doorway with an easy grace, her steps light and even with her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. That, Buffy quickly decided, was a woman with confidence.

"It was nice meeting you, Lady Buffy," owyn called as she reached the door, her smile never dimming and her earlier hesitancy all but forgotten.

"Just Buffy," the slayer corrected with a small smile.

"Buffy," owyn returned, inclining her head lightly before nodding to her friends. "Aragorn, Legolas," she murmured before turning and disappearing into the hallway beyond.

In the wake of her quiet departure, Legolas remained frozen in the open doorway, his brow furrowed as he slowly turned to where Buffy lay tucked beneath her warm blankets, her golden hair pillowed beneath her head. "It seems as though you have already won over the Lady of Ithilien," he stated as he crossed back and settled into his abandoned chair. "A very admirable feat," he added, his eyes catching Aragorn's own curious gaze.

"She's nice," Buffy returned as she yawned widely.

"Many have considered her cold," Aragorn replied, his gaze calculating.

"Not cold," Buffy argued as she shifted wearily upon her mattress, silently hating the fact that a simple conversation could tire her out so quickly. "She's obviously just used to holding people at arm's length. Besides," she added with a small, tired grin, "it seems like we have something in common."

"Indeed?"

"Yeah, apparently we're part of the ridiculously small club of girls who know how to use a sword in this world."

"Ah yes," Aragorn returned as he settled on the window's narrow ledge. "owyn is quite proficient with a sword. Did she mention that she was the one responsible for slaying the Lord of the Nazgl?" he queried as he leaned back against the cool glass. "No living man could destroy him."

Laughing softly, Buffy rolled her eyes at the familiar words. When she had faced the Judge, the rule had been that no weapon forged by Man could harm him. Technicalities, all of them. While a rocket-launcher forged by a machine had worked for her, sending a woman in to do the deed seemed to be what was needed in this case. "Never send a man to do a woman's work," Buffy warned with a small smile. "Especially an angry woman with a sword," she added, causing both Aragorn and Legolas to fill the room with their laughter.

"That better not be the voice of the King I hear coming from my patient's doorway. Especially when this King should know better than to disturb my patient when sleep is what she requires," a woman's old, matronly voice called out in fair warning before a head of gray hair peeked around the open portal.

"Ioreth!" Aragorn greeted as he quickly straightened from his impromptu seat. "Legolas and I were just-"

"Leaving, I'm sure," Ioreth returned as she scowled at the Man and Elf before lighting a stern smile upon Buffy, who was trying her best to smother a laugh at the suitably cowed expression upon Aragorn's face. "And you, my dear, had best be asleep when next I stop by," she stated before turning and disappearing from the room - only to peek her head back through a short moment later, her eyes pointedly traveling from man to elf.

Smile growing, Aragorn nodded towards Buffy. "I will be back to check on you later," he promised before slipping past the older woman.

"As will I," Legolas added as he gently squeezed Buffy's hand - only to find his pale digits captured within Buffy's weak grip.

"Legolas?" she murmured, her eyes catching his own. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?" the elf returned, slightly bewildered by the sudden seriousness that gleamed in her green-eyed gaze.

For a brief moment, Buffy paused at this question, trying and failing to put her feelings into words. For not killing her when he should have? When she would have killed him had their positions been reversed? For helping her from the moment that she awoke in this crazy world? For keeping her company when the orcs had entertained themselves for hours with their cruelties? For finding her and setting her free? Or perhaps for believing in her when the others didn't... for giving her the opportunity to live, if just a little bit longer, instead of ending her life in the hellish darkness of that room. "For... for everything," Buffy murmured with an awkward smile as she quickly drew back her hand.

"You are welcome," Legolas returned, the words falling smoothly from his lips as he nodded once to Buffy before slipping from the room.

Alone with her thoughts, something that she had grown quite used to over... well, however long that she had been a captive, Buffy turned from the partially opened door and tilted her face to the sun, her eyes slipping shut as she basked in the warmth and pure light. She had never expected to leave the confines of that room - had never allowed herself to hope that there would ever be anything more for her than those four solid walls. She had been prepared to die there, for the betterment of everyone, including herself... but now? Now she was safe, and she was free, and though she had no immediate desire to take the nearest sharp object and slit her throat and end a suffering that now, thankfully, wasn't so close to strangling her, she also knew that she could never go back. She _would_ never go back. Ever. She would die before she became a prisoner again.

A slayer wasn't meant to be a captive. A slayer wasn't meant to be a prisoner. A slayer wasn't meant to feed an army.

A slayer was meant to _be_ an army - and this slayer wasn't going to lay down again.

* * *

The sun was bright and warm upon the barren branches, and yet the rays did little to ease the oppressive weight of the winter's chill as it frosted the breath of the three horses that wound through the tall boles. The three mounts were tall and beautiful, with thick coats of auburn and tails that were long and gleaming in the afternoon light - beautiful, much like the three riders that they bore. The rider of the lead horse gently trailed his pale hand over his mount's velvety coat, his mind only half aware of the familiar trees while the other half was firmly entrenched in a City of Stone located just a day's ride southwest of the forest.

Word of Buffy's return had arrived by messenger only the day before, and it had taken Mirdan only a few hours more to scrounge up an 'important message' that needed to be delivered to the colony's lord in Minas Tirith, thereby giving him the excuse he needed to see for his own eyes that the young woman was indeed well. Not that he truly needed an excuse, for he was bound by no chain to Ithilien and could come and go as easily as any of his kin. Rather, his loyalty to the colony and the work that they were doing in restoring the beautiful forest was what bound him, as did any of the elves that had chosen to dwell beside the youngest son of Thranduil. Yet this time there was something outside of the tree's quiet song that moved him to make haste in returning to Gondor's capital.

The letter that his lord had written, while specifically stating that Buffy had been reclaimed and would recover, was vague enough for the dark-haired elf to worry about how she fared. No matter what they had discovered her blood to carry, all that mattered was that the young woman who had ridden by their side for numerous weeks, the one who had fought bravely beside him and who had stood beside his prince when he was unable, had been taken by orcs for several months and was finally returned to them. He had never before befriended a mortal, and though undeniably strange, he also found her refreshing and entertaining. It also didn't hurt matters that Thoron had returned to Minas Tirith many weeks before this, and if the dark-haired elf had learned anything during the weeks the small company had traveled together, it was that any time spent with Buffy and Thoron was entertaining indeed. Not since Brierend had he seen a body more capable of baiting the elder elf - and since it had been over five hundred years since the crown prince's death, that was saying quite a bit. Thus, he would return to the city of stone and endure the restricting space if for no other reason than to assure himself that Buffy truly was well and to take in any entertainment between her and King Thranduil's former advisor while he had the chance.

Bright smile dancing about his lips, Mirdan gently patted Rodwen's head as he turned to his two companions, both wearing identical cloaks of dark green that clearly bore the insignia of the colony of Ithilien - the only way that they could gain entrance to Gondor's capital. "Tathren," he began, his eyes darting to the willowy, golden-haired _elleth_ many centuries his senior that originally hailed from the woods of Lothlorien, "think you that Thoron might be persuaded to return with us-"

"Mirdan!" Forod, their third companion cried out, his gray eyes sharp and frantic as his knees clamped against his startled horse's side. "The trees-" he continued, his warning silenced by the single arrow that suddenly struck high in his chest, piercing through cloth and skin until it became lodged in an immortal heart - forever stilling that which was never meant to stop beating.

Frozen in shock, Mirdan could only watch in horror as the dark-haired elf's lifeless body slid from his mount's tall back, crumpling into a still heap on the frozen ground below. He thought that he heard Tathren call out to their fallen friend as Mirdan fumbled for his sword, his movements slow and clumsy as he jostled the scroll he carried so as to grip the smooth leather hilt of his weapon. As he finally wrenched it free of the scabbard, he heard Tathren's call change to one of dismay and confusion. Fair features growing grim, Mirdan lifted his head, his dark hair falling around his slender shoulders as he looked to the path before him - and found naught but their own kindred spread in a dark line before them.

No. Not their kindred, Mirdan realized as he recognized one fair face out of the many elves that stood motionless on the silent forest's floor - a forest that had grown still after having witnessed the cruel death of one of their beloved caretakers seemingly by the hand of another. "Tathren, they are _Mornedhil_," Mirdan stated as his eyes narrowed upon the impassive face of the dark-elf that had first been changed by Buffy's blood. He had only seen the creature once before, this Vashnak, and yet his was a face that he would never forget - a face that had been lit by the flickering light of the dark-elf's campfire as he held a knife to Buffy's throat.

"But Mirdan, there are so many," Tathren breathed as her horse nervously shook his head, tossing his dark mane as his soft neigh echoed in the silent woods.

"Mirdan," Vashnak murmured, his eyes moving from the blonde-_elleth_ to her dark-haired companion. For a moment, his pale brow creased as he inspected the elf that held his sword before him - an elf that seemed vaguely familiar. Then realization dawned as his eyes brightened, fixing themselves onto the stony features of the one who had traveled with the slayer. "Ah yes... now I remember you."


	24. Chapter 24

**Equinoxium: Chapter 24  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Also, kudos to "Maid in Manhattan" for a great quote.

* * *

The world was bathed in light and warmth - a warmth that had melted the night's lingering frost hours ago, leaving the narrow stone walkway dry and unlined by winter's touch. With slow but determined steps, Buffy made her way down the twisting walk, tall trees and high bushes lining the stone path while their bare branches filtered the afternoon sun. Six days had come and gone since she had first awakened in the Houses of Healing, and with each new dawn Buffy felt her former strength and vitality begin its slow return.

Its very, very slow return.

While it was true that she was no longer ailing in bed, unable to even feed herself, neither was she recuperated enough to do anything too strenuous for too long - including standing. Back in the Houses of Healing, she had become a bit of a marvel to the many different Healers that were constantly hovering beside her bed and seeing to her fading injuries. To them, her recovery was nothing short of miraculous, but to Buffy, it seemed as though she would never get back to her full strength.

Perhaps she had taken her slayer healing for granted over the past seven years, but to her, six days seemed as an eternity spent in what, for all intents and purposes, was undeniably the Middle-earth equivalent of a hospital. Under normal circumstances, bruises should have been faded and gone within hours, strength returned in days, and her damaged wrist, of all things, should not still be so tender, nor should it still bear the angry red line that marked the wound that had been healed and then reopened again and again on a daily basis for however long she had been prisoner. The healing was slow, ridiculous, and so frustrating that upon waking this morning to find yet another healer in her room, waiting to prod her limbs and caution her to walk only down the narrow hall which housed her newest prison, Buffy had decided that enough was enough.

After six days of nothing to do but watch the people around her, Buffy had come to know the healers' schedules intimately, and after lunch she took the first opportunity she saw and staged her escape... or more accurately, stumbled with limited grace for the nearest exit, which had somehow ended her in... a forest with a walkway. Not that she was complaining.

Buffy drew her borrowed cloak tighter around her small shoulders, wishing for the hundredth time that she had taken the five extra minutes to change into her familiar leathers. But no, when the opportunity had arrived, those five minutes had seemed unbearable and so the slayer had fearlessly bolted, desperate to feel the wind on her face and the open air around her. Admittedly, the open air had felt great for the first few minutes or so, but after that the extremely long white dressing gown and too big slippers weren't exactly made for a winter stroll in the cultivated woods she now roamed, and the cloak that she had swiped from a hook by the door wasn't the warmest piece of material she had ever seen. Then again, at least she was free.

It was almost funny, for Buffy didn't think that she had ever been claustrophobic when growing up. Small rooms had never inspired panic and fear, or thoughts of the walls closing in, but all of that was different now. _She_ was different now. She could probably blame it on waking up to find herself buried six feet under the ground in her own casket a few years back, yet whatever the cause, six days in the white-washed room were five days too many. Though thanks to Legolas and his friends, at least in this new prison she hadn't been forced to endure that time alone. In the past week, owyn seemed to have made it her personal mission to stop and visit at least once every afternoon - sometimes even dragging her husband, Faramir, along. Buffy had also had the opportunity to finally put a name to the beautiful Elven woman that she vaguely remembered seeing in Edoras during her first visit with madness - Arwen, Aragorn's wife and Queen of Gondor.

Smiling softly, Buffy quickly shook her head. At least she was making a point of being at her worst in front of the best company - company that didn't seem to enjoy kicking a girl when she was down. The queen, for example, was always the perfect picture of beauty, grace, and quiet strength - and yet Buffy had seen hints of Elladan and Elrohir's humor in their sister - a humor that was thankfully tempered by an extremely gentle nature and one that didn't seem to delight in tormenting the slayer with her extreme social gaffs. Kings and Queens? Princes and Princesses? Lords and Ladies? How about a simple girl from LA who spent the last seven years fighting the bad stuff in a small town in Southern California? She had frequented Tiffany's when she was a young, bubbly teenager during her time in Los Angeles, if for no other reason than to dream of the White Knight that was bound to sweep her off her feet with glittering diamonds and beautiful promises, but that was about as high-class as she got. And those dreams... those dreams were from a different lifetime. Right now she'd just settle for a life that wouldn't mean hurting anyone else. Was that too much to ask?

Faltering slightly at this thought, Buffy pressed her hand against the rough bark of a nearby tree, her aching limbs starting to shake beneath the strain of carrying her weight for so long. Her muscles hadn't atrophied too badly from her enforced bed rest, or so Aragorn had assured in much different terms, but rather it was the blood loss that was making her so terribly weak. And according to Aragorn, King of all Men, and Ioreth, Head Healer from Hell, that meant lots of food, rest, and awful tasting drinks. Oh joy.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy stubbornly pushed off from the tree and continued her half walk, half stagger down the stone path. While she felt as though she had been walking for ages, she couldn't have been gone for that long, and Buffy fully intended to enjoy the outdoors while she could - even if it meant coming back with numb cheeks and frozen fingers.

Buffy had also had the chance to meet her first dwarf in the form of Gimli, son of Gloin - much to Legolas' apparent dismay, for the short warrior seemed to delight in telling the slayer every possible embarrassing story about the 'Elf' that he could think of. Yet what was more amusing than watching Legolas turn red to the tips of his pointed ears was the way that the two friends bickered and fought - almost as if they were trying to hide their friendship beneath their many jibes and taunts. In a way, the duo reminded her of Xander and Cordelia back in high school... only without the frequent trips to the broom closet. No, Legolas and Gimli's friendship was very much platonic, and yet it obviously went very deep - as did the bond between all of those that Legolas called friend.

Friend.

Buffy felt her awkward steps begin to falter as she thought of that innocent word. She had lost so many dear friends when she was sent to Middle-earth, and yet over the course of her travels in this strange world, she had begun to believe that perhaps she had made a few more to help ease the loss. But now she wasn't so certain. Legolas' friendship had remained unchanged, that was true, but she hadn't seen Elladan and Elrohir since the night that she had been set free. They had gone away, and the loss of their friendship hurt more than she was willing to admit.

"Buffy!"

Gasping raggedly, the slayer stumbled back a pace, nearly tripping over the long hem of her dress as she lifted a trembling hand to her chest, wincing at the painful fluttering that echoed against the base of her hand. "Legolas!" she wheezed as her aching lungs struggled to find the breath that she had lost in her surprise, her wide eyes locked upon the slender figure that had fallen gracefully from the trees onto the stone path before her.

"Buffy, I have been looking all over for you!" Legolas chastised as he waved his hand back in the direction that he had traveled. "The entire Houses of Healing is in an uproar," he continued as he turned his eyes to the thick vegetation that surrounded them, his gaze suddenly becoming thoughtful. "Have you been in the Gardens all this time?"

"Gardens? I... I thought I was in a forest," Buffy murmured distractedly as her heart hammered painfully against her breast, her features becoming ashen.

"A forest?" Legolas laughed, his expression softening as he lovingly patted one slender tree. "Nay, this is no forest - and yet that is beside the point," he corrected. "You should be thankful that Ioreth summoned me before sending for Aragorn," he admonished as he turned back towards the small blonde, just as she began to sway on her feet. Reaching forward, he gently gripped a small shoulder in each hand as he quickly guided her towards a nearby bench that was masterfully hidden amongst the tangled plants and trees. Carefully, he eased the small slayer down, his eyes worriedly searching her own. "Are you well?" he asked, his voice softening as Buffy continued to hold a trembling hand against her heaving chest.

For a moment, Buffy could only nod faintly at his question as she worked to get her breathing back under control, desperately fighting the lightheadedness that had almost sent her into a swoon, of all things. Frowning at the mortifying thought, Buffy forcibly slowed her breathing, relying upon the relaxation techniques that Giles had taught her long ago. Slayers didn't faint... well, unless they were suffering from demon poisoning where they could hear everyone's thoughts, of course. "Sorry," she muttered with a small, wry smile, the strange pains in her chest slowly fading into small tingles as she absently rubbed her left shoulder. "Didn't I warn you about sneaking up on a slayer?"

"Yes, though I fear this time you were in more danger from the surprise than I," Legolas murmured as he slowly released her shoulders. "What are you doing out here? You are not yet strong enough-"

"I was thinking," Buffy cut in, her eyes narrowing briefly upon the fair-haired elf before she stubbornly turned away. She needed no reminder of how weak her body was. The quivering of her exhausted muscles and the way that her hand shook as she brushed back an errant strand of long blonde hair were both reminders enough.

"And you could not do so in the Houses of Healing?"

"Could you?" Buffy returned, her eyes darting to his. While she could never claim to be an expert in Elves, over two weeks spent in their exclusive company had taught her quite a few things about their nature - and about Legolas' in particular.

_"Slayers weren't built for captivity."_

_"Neither were elves."_

Buffy turned away as she despondently looked at the sparse vegetation that stubbornly refused to die even though the chill of winter was full upon the lands. At least, she _imagined_ that it was now winter. To be honest, she was more than a little disoriented, for when she had last been in the outside world, the trees had been full and crowned with leaves of the most vivid reds and oranges that she had ever seen. Now many of the trees were empty and barren, with only a scattering of dried, withered foliage upon their tallest branches.

"At first, time just seemed to crawl in that room," Buffy murmured as she resolutely kept her eyes fixed on the narrow stone walkway. The bench was situated on a bend in the path, and none of the trail before or after was visible to her searching eyes as her thoughts drifted to the chamber in Tol Brandir that had been her home for so long. "But then it all began to blur together," she continued with a soft sigh as she looked down to her small hands, cradled in her lap - her skin looking even more pale and ghastly when held against the stark white of the dressing gown she wore. "The only constants were the tiredness, the weakness, and the pain... but my thoughts wouldn't rest."

"I am sorry that I could not come sooner," Legolas whispered as his eyes slipped from her down-turned features to the wrist that she subconsciously began to massage.

"Wasn't your fault," Buffy murmured, shrugging away his apology. "How long was I gone?" she asked as she lifted her eyes to his, her gaze probing his own. "owyn keeps glossing over the details and won't give me a straight answer."

"Fifty-two days," Legolas returned without pause or hesitation, his features softening at such an innocent question, and yet one which showed how truly lost Buffy had been.

Yet upon hearing his answer, Buffy didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Fifty-two days? Fifty-two days! Fifty-two was such a large number, and yet she was almost surprised that it hadn't been longer. She felt as though she had been absent for years, a prisoner of that hellish world that was filled with a tedious monotony that was sometimes worse than the pain and uncertainty. Fifty-two days. That was... "Nearly two months," Buffy murmured with a slow shake of her head as she looked down upon her cradled hands, her fingers absently fingering the tender scar that still marked her right wrist. "Two months..." she continued as a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "To look on the bright side, at least it was only two months that I lost this time around. Last time I missed out on five months of my life - which may not seem like a lot to you," she added as she nodded at the elf beside her, "but to a twenty-year old, it's a lifetime."

"And now? How old are you?" Legolas asked, his eyes searching her own.

"Twenty-two - I turn twenty-three in January... although, I'm not really sure when that is here," Buffy admitted with a small frown. "My birthday is usually during the coldest, hardest part of winter... well, at least as cold as it gets in California," she amended with a wry smile.

"Then the time of your begetting must be after the winter solstice," Legolas surmised, sharing in her smile, "which is mid-way between the fall and spring equinox. We have yet some-" he continued, only to have his words falter as Buffy's pale features immediately became tinged with pink as she turned her eyes away - eyes that, for the briefest moment, once more filled with that same loathing that he had glimpsed when he had first seen her wounded wrist back in Tol Brandir. "Buffy-"

"How can you even look at me now?" the slayer interrupted as she resolutely turned away from the fair-haired elf, her heart twisting at the reminder of all that had come and gone. She knew now of Legolas' dreams and the ties between the equinox and the balance that she had been sent to create. "I brought this evil to your world," she murmured, anger beginning to stir her heart as she glared down upon the narrow red scar that marred her pale skin. "They called me their queen... how can you-"

"Did you intend for any of this to happen?" Legolas cut in, his words causing Buffy to turn to him, her eyes flashing angrily. "Did you willingly offer your blood to the orcs that had taken you?"

"Of course not!" Buffy snapped as she furiously wrapped her thin cloak tighter around her small frame.

"Therein you have your answer," the elf returned with his usual equanimity. "Buffy, what we do does not define who we are. What defines us is how we rise after falling. I will not fault you for something you had no control over, for that would be like faulting the sun for rising and blotting out the light of the stars."

Snorting at his analogy, Buffy quirked a fine brow at her companion. "Or like faulting an elf for thinking he's so wise?"

"But all elves _are_ wise," Legolas corrected with a smug smile. "You should not listen to the prattling of lesser beings - dwarves, for example. They are merely jealous of the gifts that Iluvatar has blessed upon my race," he explained as he stood from the bench and extended a long, slender hand towards the small blonde. "Now come. We should return before Ioreth truly does send for the king's guards."

Grimacing at the reminder, Buffy reluctantly accepted Legolas' proffered help as she forced her trembling legs to hold her. "That woman is worse than a jailer," she muttered as she smoothed down her long dressing gown before grabbing a handful of the coarse material and hoisting up the yards of heavy fabric to prevent her from tripping over the long ends. "And seeing where I just spent the last few months, that's saying a lot."

Laughing softly, Legolas gently gripped Buffy's elbow, adding a bit more support to her short stride. "Faramir and owyn have both been patients in the Houses of Healing and have said much the same," he assured with a smile.

Feeling her smile begin to dim, Buffy slowly nodded her head. "Your friends are all very nice," she murmured, thinking that while polite on the surface, only owyn and Gimli seemed able to accept her for who she was. For the others, it was obvious that it was more difficult to look past the fact that her blood was responsible for making their world that much darker, and they carried an unease that they tried to bury beneath warm smiles and kind words. Yet what saddened her more was the complete absence of the two elves that she had come to know and respect during their travels south. Elladan and Elrohir had been a constant source of amusement that always served to distract her from what she had been forced to leave behind - from all that she had lost by coming to this world. But she hadn't even seen the twins since their brief encounter in Tol Brandir, and in a way, Buffy was beginning to fear that this avoidance would last forever.

Shaking away her dismal thoughts, Buffy forced a bright smile. "They're everything that you said they were."

"They are more," Legolas corrected with a small, fond smile as he paused upon the stone walk, one hand slipping inside his tunic to withdraw the small, single sheet of glossy paper that he had carefully kept safe for the many days of Buffy's absence. "I believe you forgot this back in Edoras," he stated as he gently offered the find to the petite slayer beside him.

"Forgot what?" Buffy returned as her eyes lifted to the elf's hand, only to watch as her treasured photograph, the one that she had feared lost forever, slipped from Legolas' fingers and slowly floated to the ground before them. "Legolas, what-" she began, ignoring her body's protests as she hurriedly reached for the falling picture, only to freeze as her frazzled senses began to warn her of another's presence far too late.

Green eyes lifting, Buffy watched as someone else dropped from the thick branches in a swirl of green to land effortlessly before them, much in the same way that Legolas had, only minutes before. Startled, Buffy stood frozen on the stone walkway, her disbelieving eyes riveted upon the tall, dark-haired elf that casually brandished his long, gleaming sword before him.

"I told you we would meet again," Vashnak stated by way of greeting as Buffy found herself roughly pushed behind Legolas, the fair-haired elf placing himself between her and the point of Vashnak's sword.

"How did you get here?" Legolas demanded, one arm stretched behind him, holding Buffy against his back as she began to struggle against her shielded position, even as his other hand automatically strayed to a quiver and twin knives that weren't there. Weapons were forbidden in the Houses of Healing, and even if they hadn't, it would have been an ill sign of trust to carry weapons this far within the protected walls of Aragorn's city. The Houses of Healing were located within the sixth circle of Minas Tirith, meaning that an intruder would have to pass through six guarded gates to reach the sheltered gardens - six gates that would have been impossible to bypass, even for an elf. Yet despite the sheer impossibility of the situation, it didn't change the fact that the dark elf was standing before him, a small smile lifting the corners of his thin lips. "How-" Legolas began again, only to falter as his sharp sight finally noted the long green cloak that Vashnak wore - the long green cloak that bore the crest of the elvish colony of Ithilien... the crest of his people.

"I come bearing an urgent message from Ithilien, my Lord," Vashnak replied with a mocking sweep of his sword as he tossed a small object that tumbled through the air before skittering across the smooth stone, finally rolling to a stop at Legolas' booted feet.

Eyes automatically following the object's descent, Legolas recognized the scroll for what it was long before it reached its final position - and yet it took him far longer than that for his mind to process the dried crimson stains that marked the fine parchment. Crimson stains that could be nothing else but the dried blood of whomever's cloak Vashnak now wore. The dried blood of an elf.

As Legolas blanched in dawning understanding and horror, Vashnak's smile grew, his dark orbs dancing at the crushing grief that filled the gaze of the fair-haired elf. "You know," Vashnak mused, "it is rumored amongst my kind that Elves can be killed by their grief." For a moment, he paused as Legolas' empty eyes slowly lifted to meet with his own before turning away. "I never believed it until now," he admitted as the fair-haired elf mechanically held the struggling slayer behind him. "Tell me, did you know an elf by the name of Forod? Or how about Tathren?" he continued as he took another slow step closer, taking enjoyment in the pain that each new name brought to the elf's solemn face. "She was a very pretty she-elf, all pale and golden. That is, until we let our orc brethren have her for their fun," he amended with a wicked smile as Buffy's struggles and protests became more agitated.

"And then there was Mirdan," Vashnak sighed as everything became deathly still, the blond-elf's eyes snapping to meet his own as Buffy finally fell silent - as though Mirdan's name had drawn the very energy from her fights and protests. "Yes, I thought you would recognize that name," he murmured as he picked at the cloak that he wore. "Were you close?" he asked as he met Legolas' fiery gaze. "I certainly hope so, because we saved him for last. He met his end only after he had been forced to watch his friends meet theirs," he whispered as Buffy's soft cry of dismay finally broke the tense silence, her knees buckling as she buried her face in the back of Legolas' suede tunic.

Yet even as the anger and grief burned within Legolas' taut form, the elven prince said nothing as he silently supported Buffy's slight weight against his back. Forod was an elf that he had known only briefly - a friend of the twins' that had long dwelled within Elrond's sanctuary in the Last Homely House in Imladris. Tathren was from an older generation - a venerated warrior that had served long under Haldir and the marchwarden's brothers in Lothlrien. And Mirdan... Gasping raggedly, Legolas doggedly refused to allow the grief to take him, ignoring its promise of numbing his pained senses.

"He pleaded for the she-elf and begged for her to remain unspoiled," Vashnak continued, digging the knife deeper with the truths of what had passed. "And then he tried to bargain his life for your own," he added as he nodded towards Legolas' stricken face. "Though what value he thought his life might contain was lost on my over-eager brethren, for when they finished with the she-elf, they continued their fun with him."

"Enough!" Legolas snapped, his grief swiftly transforming into a barely controlled rage.

Eyeing the quivering elf, Vashnak took one last moment to savor the grief and anger that he had carefully cultivated before swiftly changing tracks. "You know, it is quite amazing how fearful and suspicious the citizens of Gondor are of an elf," he commented, a cruel smile lifting his lips.

"You are no elf," Legolas hissed as his eyes narrowed upon the mockery that stood so casually before him.

"But I am," Vashnak returned, his dark eyes burning. "I am an elf, long descended from the loins of your kin. Her blood," he continued as he nodded towards the small white hand that clutched the side of Legolas' suede tunic, "has merely restored the gifts of which Melkor had robbed us."

"Your heart is black-"

"Yet it bleeds red," Vashnak interrupted as a second dark-haired elf dropped from the tree branches, landing lightly behind Legolas. "Not that you will ever know," he added as the second elf, Guol, pulled the weakened slayer from Legolas' back and twisted her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her thin waist and pinning her arms to her side as he bodily lifted her against him.

Time slowed as Legolas turned at the sound of Buffy's surprised gasp, his eyes briefly meeting with her own as his senses screamed their warnings to him. In that brief flash, Legolas felt his world narrow as he sensed Vashnak's movement behind him, the archer's lithe body moving accordingly as he pivoted on his heel and gracefully spun out of the way of the sword's downward arc. Yet this wasn't a battle with a lumbering orc. This time Legolas faced an elf - a fact that he was quickly reminded of as his movements weren't quite fast enough to avoid a burning line of fire that stretched from shoulder to elbow.

Hissing from the unexpected pain, Legolas felt his warm blood soak the arm of his tunic as time resumed its blinding pace, his hand clamping against the wound as he ducked the next thrust that had been aimed at his heart, the blade singing as it cut the air with lethal velocity. Straightening, the fair-haired elf quickly darted back, putting more distance between himself and Vashnak as his eyes scoured the garden floor for any sort of weapon to aid him in this fight. The voices of the trees were crying out to him, vying against the rushing of his blood in his ears as they directed his gaze to a withered bush a few feet to his right. Backpedaling to avoid another sharp jab, ignoring the pain of a new line of fire that branded his lean body, Legolas listened to their aid as his eyes lit upon a thick, gnarled branch that poked from beneath the bush. Without pause, Legolas vaulted towards the makeshift weapon, his hand wrapping around the sturdy wood as the rest of the trees' warnings finally became clear.

Three names had been given. Forod, Tathren, and Mirdan had fallen. Vashnak wore the cloak of one fallen elf, and the dark-elf that held Buffy wore another, which meant that one yet remained.

There was a third, Legolas realized in a moment of blinding clarity as the final elf materialized out of the shadowed wood, his sword cleaving towards Legolas' extended hand and forcing the archer into a hasty retreat - weaponless still.

* * *

"Damnit, let me _go!_" Buffy hissed as she kicked and writhed in Guol's arms, alternately cursing her weakened body and the dark elf that held her as Legolas struggled against Vashnak and Dergu. The fight was horribly uneven, the two elves paired against one who was unarmed, and with each hit more red blood splashed across the stone pathway as the three danced, twirled and spun with unparalleled grace and deadly precision. Though Buffy didn't know it, such a fight hadn't been seen since the Dark Days, when the sons of Fanor slaughtered their kin in order to reclaim the lost Silmarils and fulfill their bloody oath. In all of the countless centuries and millenniums and ages since that time, not once had an elf raised a blade against another in an act of violence - until now. And her blood had made it all possible.

Anger coursing through her weakened body, Buffy ignored her trembling, aching limbs; she ignored the rapid hammering of her heart and the tingling rush of blood through her veins; she ignored the way her lungs laboriously struggled for each breath as she felt her anger turn into the raw fire of a slayer's wrath. She had been helpless for two months now; she'd be damned if she'd be helpless again, no matter what her ailing body had to say about the matter.

With a feral snarl, Buffy bent over the long arms that held her aloft and viciously sank her teeth into the exposed, soft flesh of a bared wrist. This was the desperate act of a slayer who had been pushed too far as blunt teeth tore through skin and muscle, causing a flood of warm, coppery blood to fill her mouth. Gagging on the foul taste, Buffy heard her captor cry out, his arms loosening as she slid from his grasp, her weakened legs betraying her as they buckled beneath her weight and tumbled her to the hard ground, her shoulder rocking against Guol's legs as the dark-elf cursed in the Black Tongue.

Yet even as her numbed mind noted her jarred shoulder, Buffy was already pushing past the pain as her hand slipped up Guol's leg, sliding under his tunic until her questing fingers found the leather hilt that she had been searching for. It was a small dagger, the blade unadorned and the hilt plain, yet Buffy knew that dagger as well as she knew the Rohirrim blade she had carried for so many weeks. Perhaps better. She had been watching her captors for two months now. Two months of observations - one of which was the fact that Guol never went anywhere without this dagger that was secreted beneath his tunic - a dagger that Buffy had glimpsed only on rare occasions, and yet the dagger that she had been fantasizing about ever since the first moment she had laid eyes upon it. The dagger that had teased and tormented her with promises of release from the hell that she endured, and yet it that had always been just out of her leadened arm's reach.

Until now.

With trembling fingers, Buffy yanked the secreted weapon from its sheath, the hilt fitting into her closed fist as she arced her arm back and then drove it forward with all of the waning strength that she possessed. With a strangled, inarticulate cry she felt the sharpened tip cut through material and cloth before finding and piercing flesh, lodging deep within the dark-elf's belly as the creature's knees buckled, his body falling back as she tumbled forward. With a dry thud, his back smacked against the stone pathway, Buffy's chin rebounding off of his thigh with a sickening crack - and yet not once did she relinquish her hold on the only weapon that her hand had held in two months.

Ignoring her body's throbbing protests, Buffy scrambled forward, her trembling hands wrapping around the dagger as she pulled it free, the blade sliding out of flesh with a soft sucking noise that vied against the gurgle of blood as it poured from the grisly wound. Then, with the briefest of glances at the elf's wide, pain-glazed eyes, Buffy drove the knife forward once more, the rest of the world falling away as the blade plunged into flesh, coating her hands with the wet, crimson wash.

Over and over again she pulled the knife free, only to plunge it down in a stuttering rhythm, her own ragged breathing keeping time to the downward thrusts. It didn't even matter when the elf's chest stopped moving or when his body stopped twitching - not even when the blood stopped gushing from the wounds, no longer pushed by the elf's beating heart. The only thing that mattered was that she was helpless no longer and that one of her tormentors finally lay at her mercy. Though this time there was no mercy. The dark-elves had never shown her mercy in all of the time that she was their captive, and she would show none in return.

Buffy could have continued stabbing the dagger into the mutilated chest until all of her strength was spent, her body tumbling to adorn the deathbed that had been created by her own hand, but Dergu's cry of surprise finally broke through her jumbled thoughts, reminding her of the battle that was still being waged behind her.

Breath catching in her throat, Buffy left the blood-stained knife lodged in the dead elf's massacred chest as she turned back to the deserted stone walk, just in time to witness one tree's revenge against one of the orcs that wore an Elvish face. With wide eyes, Buffy watched as Dergu plummeted from a high branch that had betrayed him, his body twisting mid-air before smashing against a thick branch, the dry sound of breaking bone echoing in the clearing as his lifeless body crashed against the stone walk, his head tilted at an odd angle.

Turning away from the broken body, Buffy lifted her eyes higher, desperately searching for the golden-haired elf as she instinctively understood that Legolas had taken the battle into the trees in hopes of evening the fight. Yet she needn't have searched too hard for within moments of Dergu's fall, Legolas himself swung from the branches of a nearby tree, his tunic splattered with blood, the drops falling like crimson raindrops from the many cuts and gashes that adorned his lithe body.

Swiftly falling into a crouch beside the dark-elf's body, the archer's pale hands reached for Dergu's fallen sword, his strong fingers wrapping around the hilt as his eyes lifted to lock with Buffy's only briefly. Yet that one moment proved to be his undoing. Vashnak dropped from the tree's branches, his weight crashing against Legolas as the dark-elf shoved a small dagger into the archer's unprotected side.

"_Legolas!_" Buffy screamed as the elf-prince stiffened, his blue eyes growing wide as they remained locked with her own. They were two orbs of startling blue that conveyed so much surprise; surprise at having been caught, surprise at having been bested, and surprise at being forced into this unwilling end.

With a quiet whimper, Buffy watched as Vashnak twisted the blade in the other elf's side, furthering the damage before pulling the dagger free to release a small crimson flood to wash Dergu's still body below. As Vashnak stepped back, the fair-haired elf somehow clambered to his feet, his features ashen and tightened in agony as he turned to meet his opponent one last time, Dergu's sword limply held in one trembling, blood-soaked hand.

With sickening nonchalance, Vashnak grinned at the bloody elf as he threw the dagger aside and once more lifted his sword, his free hand waving the elf forward. It was a sick game, one that Legolas could never win, and one that caused Buffy's eyes to flood with tears as the fair-haired elf valiantly struggled forward, one hand holding tight against the blood that fell in torrents from the gaping wound in his side even as the other shakily brandished the sword. Smirking, Vashnak acknowledged this move with a small nod of approval before easily knocking the blade to the side, the sword clattering against the stone walk with a ring of finality that could not be dismissed. The end had come with a sickening certainty - and yet that knowledge did nothing to prevent the half-sob, half-scream that was ripped from Buffy's throat as Vashnak drove forward with his sword, impaling Legolas through the abdomen and pushing him back until the sword was lodged into the large tree behind the elf - skewering him alive.

Everything became still for one brief moment as Legolas' pain-glazed eyes looked down upon the still quivering blade that emerged from the widening red stain that darkened his green tunic. But then that moment was over as Vashnak turned from Legolas with a derisive sneer, his dark eyes slipping over the carnage until they locked upon Buffy's unmoving form - and then he started forward.

Gasping raggedly, Buffy felt her paralysis broken as she turned and dove back upon Guol's mutilated form, her wet, bloody hands slipping over the abandoned dagger's hilt as she strove for the weapon. She didn't know whether she reached for the knife to use it upon Vashnak or herself. All she knew was that she couldn't go with him. She couldn't go back to that. She _wouldn't_ go back to that.

With a desperate sob, Buffy fumbled for the slippery hilt as she felt Vashnak's claw-like hands dig into her shoulders, roughly pulling her back from the body and her only weapon. Instinctively she found herself striking out against any part of the dark-elf that she could reach, her weakened blows bouncing off of his arms and shoulders as she thrashed in his punishing grip. Gone was the grace and cunning of the slayer and in their place were the awkward, frightened movements of a young woman who couldn't take anymore. Even the ability to form coherent thoughts and phrases were gone as Buffy heard a pitiful keening escape from her lips as she twisted against him, her plaintive mewing vying against his frustrated curses. Curses that fell silent as a group of five Gondorian soldiers appeared around the bend in the stone pathway that led to the Houses of Healing, their swords drawn as their wide eyes looked upon the carnage that decorated the normally peaceful garden floor.

For a moment Buffy remained frozen in Vashnak's arms, her eyes locked upon the familiar black livery that was decorated with the stitching of the White Tree of Gondor. Buffy realized that Ioreth must have really dispatched the Citadel's guards in the search for her missing patient - guards that had heard her screams and the sounds of the fight. Guards that were, no doubt, just a small contingent of those that were now heading to this very spot.

A thought that Vashnak seemed to share as she felt his arms tighten around her for the briefest of moments as his lips brushed against her ear. "I _will_ be back for you," he promised before shoving her forward, her legs failing her as she tumbled off of the stone walk and against a narrow tree, her hands wrapping around the rough bark.

Gasping, Buffy sagged against the sturdy wood, her eyes briefly following Vashnak as he disappeared into the trees, all but one of the five guards quickly giving chase. Dazed, Buffy looked to the uncertain man, his grim countenance shattered as he looked bewilderingly between her blood-soaked figure, the two dead elves that littered the garden grounds, and the unmistakable form of the Lord of Ithilien from where he was pinned against a tree with naught but a bloody sword to hold him aloft.

Suddenly a shout from one of his companions broke the man from his uncertainty as his head snapped in the direction the others had disappeared. "I am sorry, Lady," he stammered as he cast one quick, despairing look at Legolas' bloody form. "I have no skills to aid in this and there is naught I can do for you now, but fear not, for the king is coming!" he called before leaving her alone with the thickening silence. The thickening silence that was shattered by a wet, pained wheeze to her right.

"Legolas," Buffy gasped as she was reminded of the dear friend that she had all but forgotten in her overwhelming panic to escape Vashnak. Pushing away from her support, the small slayer staggered the short distance to the tree that unwillingly continued to hold the fair-haired elf aloft, the gray bark stained with the blood of an immortal as Legolas' trembling legs caused him to sag ever lower. Yet with each inch that he sank towards the ground, the sword that still pinned the elf against the tree only cut further from his abdomen and into his chest, widening the grisly wound and doing more damage to a body that already couldn't take anymore - a fact that Buffy knew only too well.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the tears streaming down her face as the slayer did the only thing she could, her shaking hands wrapping around the sword's hilt as she used the very last reserves of her waning strength to pull the sword free. Instantly she found her scream mixing with Legolas' as she dropped the sword beside her, her hands moving out to catch the fair-haired elf as he slid towards the ground. Yet his weight, no matter how slight, was far too much for her to bear as her knees promptly buckled, sending her crashing to the ground beneath him.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Buffy gasped as she crawled out from beneath Legolas' body, her hands gently pillowing his head upon the ground, his tangled blond tresses spread beneath him. "Oh God, I'm so sorry!" she rasped as she lifted her shaking hands and pressed them against the large hole that marred his chest, the tears streaming down her face as she saw the blood that still poured from the wound in his side. There was blood everywhere. So much blood. How could there be this much blood and still more flow free?

"Legolas! Legolas, please hold on!" she begged as she futilely tried to staunch the crimson torrent, feeling the wetness soak through her white dress and paste it against her body. Tears streaming down her face, Buffy tilted her head back, her blonde hair trailing around her shoulders as she turned her eyes to the uncaring heavens. "_Somebody help me!_" she screamed, her voice cracking as she turned back to the only friend that had stood by her in this world. "Legolas, just please hold on. We just... we just need to get a doctor," she stammered as her eyes finally lifted from the grisly wound to meet his wide blue eyes - eyes that were glazed with pain, and yet far too alert as they unerringly met her watery gaze.

"N-no healer... c-c-can heal such a wound," he gasped, his breath wheezing between bloodied lips. Lips that spoke the truth, no matter how much she didn't want to admit to it.

Buffy had been a slayer for seven years, and unfortunately, that meant that she had seen many mortal wounds. Legolas had two such wounds - wounds that not even the best doctor back home could have healed, and certainly wounds that no healer in this world stood a chance of making right.

Though, if the hands of a healer would not work in this... perhaps there was something else that might.

_"Why does this so surprise you? Has your blood never healed another?"_

"The blood of a slayer... it... it heals," Buffy murmured, unconsciously repeating her words to Vashnak from so many months before as she looked down upon the angry red scar that was smeared with wet blood. "It heals," she repeated as she turned from the red, puckered line to the elf that lay dying before her - and in that moment, a decision was made as Buffy reached for the sword that she had dropped. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she slid her healing wrist over the upturned blade, reopening the old wound before quickly bringing the freely bleeding wrist towards Legolas' ashen face.

Despite the agony that the elf had to be in, it still only took him the briefest of moments to understand Buffy's intentions as his blue eyes grew even wider, his features blanching as he resolutely turned his face away. And in that moment, Buffy felt whatever was left of her heart slowly crumble. Elladan and Elrohir had seen what her blood was capable of firsthand, and the twins had turned from her. She had lost their friendship and that understanding hurt more than she could ever admit. The twins feared her - feared what her blood was capable of doing. _Everyone_ feared her blood, and it was like she had been infected by AIDS back when the world had still been so ignorant of the disease. They didn't want her poison to spread and somehow infect themselves with whatever had been capable of changing a dark creature into something even worse... yet Legolas had never seemed to share in that fear. He had looked past the blood and seen the soul that was hurting from the rejection, the fear, the pain, and the uncertainty. And he hadn't cared.

Until now, and that realization was somehow worse than anything else that she had suffered.

"No, no no no," Buffy stammered, her voice catching in a sob as she caught the elf's face and forced him to hold still, easily reading the fear that shone in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry, but I have to try," she gasped as she pressed her bleeding wrist against Legolas' lips, quickly massaging her bloody forearm as the blood began to flood the elf's mouth. And in that moment, as the dying elf began to choke and gag as he panicked, trying in vain to spit up the blood that began to coat his throat, Buffy reached a whole new level of self-loathing. It was bad enough to think of an orc drinking her blood, but to force it upon a creature that was more beautiful, pure, and perfect than anything else in this world? "I'm so sorry," she repeated, dimly realizing that the phrase was becoming a mantra as, eventually, Legolas had no choice but to swallow some of the blood that he tried to deny entrance with everything in his being, his throat moving convulsively to clear his blocked airway and fill his starving lungs. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, everything else disappearing as she held her bleeding wrist to his parted lips.

* * *

With a strangled cry that was part disbelief and other part overwhelming grief, Gimli took in the blood-bathed scene in mere moments before he found himself rushing forward, a blinding wave of anger clouding his vision. When word had reached him and Aragorn of Buffy's disappearance from the Houses of Healing, they had come straight away to help in the search for the missing young woman. Yet never in all of Gimli's worst nightmares had the dwarf ever expected to find this... this _perversion_ of the Elf's trust and kindness. They had heard the screams and the clashing of blades, and the two dead elves spoke of whatever battle had taken place, but to round a corner on the garden's path to find the girl the Elf had befriended forcing her poison down Legolas' throat... it was unthinkable.

Powerful chest heaving with each gasping breath, Gimli found himself beside the slayer before she had time to take note of his presence. Not that he gave her time, for with one swipe with his meaty arm he sent the young woman tumbling away from his friend. Nostrils flaring, the dwarf felt himself quivering with rage as he began stalking towards her - only to have his steps falter as Aragorn finally gained the bend behind him.

For a moment, the king stood frozen upon the stone walk, his disbelieving gray eyes sweeping over the carnage that was strewn over this once-peaceful garden, a small contingent of royal guards flanking him to either side. At first he found his gaze resting upon a dark-haired elf that bore the crest of the colony of Ithilien upon his cloak, his head turned in a way that was never meant to be and his fair features frozen in surprise. Next the king's searching gaze found the unmoving body of another elf - an elf whose chest was so mutilated that it looked as though a warg had set upon him, the elf's shredded tunic nearly indistinguishable from the matted gore that covered his torn body. And yet from there the king had no choice but to turn to the most horrific picture of them all.

With slow, staggering steps Aragorn moved closer to the third elf that lay crumpled beside an ancient tree that towered over the stone walk - a tree that could have very well been older than the immortal life that it sheltered beneath its sweeping boughs. Yet while the other two elves of Ithilien had been strangers to the ranger-turned-king, this last was as a brother to him. Aragorn knew the pale, crimson-stained features as well as he knew his own. He knew the strength of those long limbs that were strewn haphazardly over the tree's sprawling roots. He knew the grace of this elf's movements. But most of all, he knew the heart of this elf - the heart that was so attuned with his own that the owner had sworn to never forsake these shores until Aragorn himself had chosen to part from this world, no matter the cost to the elf's torn soul.

This soul was never meant to depart before his own.

"Legolas," Aragorn gasped, the dear name slipping unnoticed from his lips as he dropped to his knees beside his old friend, his gray eyes sweeping over a body that was taut with pain and covered in blood. "Legolas, no," he stammered as his eyes looked upon a face that was pallid, the elf's large blue eyes hidden beneath a down sweep of thick, black lashes.

"A-Aragorn?" Legolas wheezed as his eyes opened, desperately searching for his friend as he tried to shift on the blood-soaked ground.

"No, Legolas, _hodo_ - lie still," Aragorn countered, fear pulling the breath from his lungs as his gaze locked upon the two grisly wounds that poured Legolas' blood upon a forest floor that was already drenched with crimson. Hurriedly he pushed his hands over the gaping wounds - one covering each ragged opening that throbbed with hurt and robbed Legolas of a life that was meant to last an eternity. Never before had Aragorn seen his friend so grievously wounded. Never before had he seen the Elf laid low by sickness or injury. Such a thing was never meant for one of the Firstborn - was never meant for _this elf_, and to see it now shook Aragorn to the core. His hands were the hands of a healer, and yet there was naught even a king of Men could do against a foe such as this.

"Please, my friend, _dartho ah nin. -bronion cuil aredh._ Do not go yet. _Deri an min_," he pleaded, his voice a broken mockery of its usual strong cadence as he switched unconsciously from Westron to Sindarin and then back again. "Please, stay with me. I cannot endure life without you. Do not go yet. Please, wait for us," he repeated as his strong hands began to shake beneath the warm blood that thrummed against his trembling fingers. Blood that was everywhere: pooled beneath Legolas' lithe form, soaking into Aragorn's fine robes, and even coating the elf's trembling lips-

Coating the elf's lips...

Eyes growing wide, Aragorn felt his breath catch in his throat as his head snapped to the right. There stood Gimli, the dwarf frozen upon the path, his small eyes locked upon the Elf. Yet beside the dwarf... beside the dwarf sat Buffy, her white gown stained with blood and clinging to her petite frame while a single hand was held against a cheek that burned with a vivid red hand print. The young woman looked dazed, and yet it was the wounded wrist which coursed blood in small, slow rivulets down her slender arm that held his gaze. And in that moment, Aragorn felt his already unstable world collapse even further beneath this betrayal, his eyes once more returning to lips that were not stained with blood, but rather with a crimson poison that even now began to work its dark magic upon his dearest friend.

Lithe muscles growing taut in an already agonized frame, Legolas' slender back arched as fire raced through his veins, his voice lifting in a scream that broke the still air with its piercing quality. Instantly Gimli was by his side as he and Aragorn struggled to hold the archer still, the elf's body locked and his back arched with a pain that neither could comprehend. Never before had either heard their stoic friend cry out in pain in all of the many years of their friendship, and to hear it now, to this painful extent was worse than any physical wound that could have possibly been inflicted upon their own mortal bodies.

"Send for Ioreth - and someone find Elladan and Elrohir!" Aragorn bellowed as he turned to his stunned guards that had remained frozen on the path's bend, a few men breaking away at their king's command. "And take her away!" he added as he turned to where Buffy remained frozen upon the ground a few feet away, his harsh words causing her to draw back.

Instantly two guards strode forward, their rough hands wrapping around each arm as they hoisted Buffy between them, her quiet sobs muffled beneath Legolas' ragged breaths and unearthly screams of pain.

"And someone see to her wrist before she bleeds to death!" the king added in disgust, his eyes flickering to pierce her with his angry gaze only briefly before Legolas' scream once more shattered the tranquil woods.

Nodding at their liege, the two guards began dragging their prisoner away, their heavy feet shuffling over the blood-stained walk as the wind suddenly picked up and began moaning through the bare branches. With swift bursts it rustled blood stained cloth, pulled and tangled dark hair, and gently lifted a small photograph and carried it away with one strong gust. Stained with blood and torn from heavy feet, the picture featured seven smiling people from a different lifetime who remained oblivious to the immortal blood that had been shed and the lives that had been ruined that day. It was a token of the past, and the wind knew this as it carried the treasured relic far away from the elf that had been betrayed by the smiling blonde that stood amongst her family and friends, even as it whistled its fury to the world as the dying elf continued to scream his agony to the trees that so loved him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Equinoxium: Chapter 25  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

The return from the Gardens to the Houses of Healing blurred in Buffy's mind, her slight weight supported between the two armed guards that escorted her down curving paths and through unfamiliar halls, their stern features solemn and their grips punishing upon her slender arms. Not that this small abuse mattered, for the slayer's thoughts remained fixed upon that wooded path that had been bathed with elvish blood. Legolas' agonized face, Vashnak's dark eyes, Gimli's furious countenance and the betrayal that flared in Aragorn's fiery gaze... all were locked behind her closed eyes as Legolas' tortured screams continued to echo in her mind. It was a scream that never paused for breath, a scream that never lessened in its pained intensity, and a scream that she had initiated when she had forced her blood past Legolas' resisting lips.

She had brought this pain upon the Elf, forcing her blood upon him when he was too injured to resist... but it had been an act of desperation! Angel had once needed her blood in order to heal the poison that coursed through his dead veins, and Buffy had reacted the only way she knew how as she had struck him until the demon came forth and took what it needed. With Legolas dying in her arms, Buffy had once more found herself in that same place, moving without thought as she forced her blood upon another. But this time... this time she hadn't given her blood to a vampire. She had given it to an Elf. She had given her _poison_ to an Elf.

"What have I done?" Buffy murmured as she staggered against one of the guards, her legs feeling impossibly weak as horror and self-loathing caused bitter tears to burn her green eyes, wetting her lashes before they coursed silent trails down her cheeks. "What have I done?" she repeated, the words expelled upon a shaky breath.

Yet such was a question that neither guard seemed willing or able to answer as they stilled before an unfamiliar door. Silently, Buffy watched as one of the men searched through a ring of keys before selecting the one he needed and sliding it into the keyhole. With a heavy clank of metal tumblers, the lock was released and the door pushed open, revealing an impossibly tiny chamber that was illuminated by a small window set high in the wall, a single cot pushed beneath it.

Brow creasing in confusion, Buffy dimly eyed the barren room from the safety of the hall beyond. "What-" she began, her soft question interrupted as the large hands released her bruised arms and shoved her forward, her slippered feet sliding over smooth stone until she banged one knee against the edge of the wooden cot. Wincing at the sharp pain, Buffy turned as the sound of a slamming door echoed behind her. "No, wait," she stammered, her feet carrying her towards the closed door, small hands slapping ineffectually against the smooth wood. "I need to know... I need to know about Legolas!" she shouted, wincing as her shrill voice reverberated off of the small walls and echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber.

Heavy arms falling back to her side, Buffy slowly backed away from the massive door, the tears clouding her vision as she turned to the filtered light from the window behind her.

A window that was fitted with bars.

They had placed her in a prison, Buffy realized as her veins began to fill with ice. A prison that looked far more the part than the spacious chamber that had been hers in the Tower of Tol Brandir. Which meant that despite Legolas' reassurances, she was a captive once more.

Feeling her ragged breath catch in her throat, Buffy looked frantically around the small room, willing the walls to stay where they were and ignoring their press about her slender frame. She was not claustrophobic and she refused to succumb to such a weakness - and yet that brave thought did little to still the overly frantic beat of her heart or help to ease her ragged breathing. The only thing that served to distract her from her growing panic was the soft, steady drip that echoed in the small chamber.

Confused, Buffy looked down to see that her once pristine white dressing gown was filthy, wet and heavy with blood. Some of the crimson stains were splattered across her torso and flecked along her skin - a back spray of Guol's blood. Others were patches that were thick and heavy, causing the material to cling to her skin - and this, she knew, was Legolas' blood. Slowly she lifted one pale hand to her face, her fingers tracing the sticky moisture that lined her lips and trailed down her chin. This, too, was Guol's blood. And yet it wasn't someone else's blood that dripped steadily down, splashing upon the stone floor in a widening pool. No. That was her own, Buffy realized as she finally looked upon her right arm, so very pale and snaked with crimson trails that skimmed down the skin of her hand to drip from her slightly curled fingers to the floor below.

Buffy stood transfixed by the sight of her own blood, Legolas' scream still echoing in her mind. The fair-haired elf hadn't cried out once in battle - not even when Vashnak had twisted the dagger in his side. Legolas had received two mortal wounds, but not once had he given voice to his pain.

It had taken a small taste of her own blood to do that.

Knees buckling, Buffy collapsed upon the stone floor, her legs tucked beneath her as she slowly lifted her bleeding hand to look in horrified wonder upon the sliced wrist. She could feel it throbbing in time with the stampeding beat of her own heart as the blood trails changed direction, now flowing down towards her shoulder. This was her blood, she noted as she held her good hand against her fluttering heart. Such a trivial thing and yet capable of so much destruction.

And death.

Back when she was a captive of Tol Brandir, the human healer and his village had suffered because of her blood; Mirdan and his two companions had been destroyed; and Legolas... Legolas was dying, if not already dead because of that which ran through her veins and dripped upon the floor. As a slayer, she had lived, breathed, and had distributed death without pause or hesitation. She was a Slayer, and as such, she had been told that death was her gift to give. Yet surely the First Slayer hadn't meant this.

Shaken from her thoughts as the locked tumblers shifted turned, Buffy lifted eyes that were dimmed of their usual fire as the door was pulled open to reveal one of the guards that had brought her to this prison. Her hands falling back into her lap, she watched as the man slowly stepped forward, his eyes shrewdly narrowed upon her before beckoning another to enter. Instantly the silhouette of a young girl emerged from the shadowed hall, her small hands juggling a ceramic bowl as well as a bag of herbs and bandages. She couldn't have been older than eight years old, with pale skin and shining blond hair that was neatly plaited down her slender back. She wore a simple dress of dark green, her fair features creased in concentration with a small tongue peeking between pink lips as she stepped forward, the items precariously balanced in her arms. Pausing upon the room's threshold, the girl finally lifted large eyes of a stormy gray, her features widening in shock as her sharp gaze locked upon the blood that covered Buffy's form.

"Lady, where are you injured?" the girl demanded in a small, scared voice as she hurried the final few steps in the room, hastily placing the full bowl of clean water on the floor before worriedly pawing through her small sac. "I should have brought more bandages," she muttered, more to herself than Buffy as she pulled out a small, clean white cloth and hurriedly dipped it into the warm water.

"The blood isn't mine," Buffy assured, her voice sounding distant as the girl's eyes lifted curiously to her own. "Well, most of it isn't," the slayer amended as she slowly, mechanically lifted her arm to show her bleeding wrist.

Sighing in evident relief, the girl gently took the injured appendage in hand as both guards crowded inside the room with her and her patient, their hands resting upon the pommels of their swords and their eyes warily locked upon the young woman. Frowning, the child ignored the solemn men as she used the cloth to wash away some of the blood, her clear eyes critically assessing the clean cut. "What happened?"

"I..." Buffy murmured, her voice faltering as the girl paused in her work to watch her quizzically. "There was an accident," the slayer finally whispered, forcing a small, brittle smile.

Yet this child wasn't so young as to be blinded by a lie, as evidenced by the skeptical expression upon her face as her gray eyes probed Buffy's. "Mother says that little girls should not play with swords," she murmured, correctly guessing the weapon that had been used to produce such a clean and even cut. "Outside of swordsmanship lessons, of course," she amended as she washed the cloth in the bowl of water that was swiftly turning a cloudy pink.

Intrigued by this admission, Buffy frowned at the little girl. "Who is your mother?"

"Lady owyn, the White Lady of Ithilien," the girl returned as she wiped at the blood that continued to ooze from the deep cut.

Buffy nodded in understanding. "Then your father would be Lord Faramir, the Prince of Ithilien," she stated, easily seeing both the steward and his pregnant wife in the beautiful girl.

"He is," the child affirmed as she placed Buffy's free hand over the damp cloth, forcing the slayer to apply pressure to stem the bleeding as the girl returned to her bag of supplies.

"But that would make you a princess, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose," the girl admitted with a shrug as she retrieved a small jar of herb poultice and began spreading it on the cut.

Ignorant of the sting from the thick, green substance, Buffy smiled at the little girl's bent head. "Then I'm honored to have a princess fixing me up," she returned, her attention fixated on the child that brightened the dark little prison that she had been shoved into. For a moment, Buffy could almost pretend that Vashnak hadn't invaded this sanctuary and spilled elven blood upon its soil. She could almost pretend that everything had not come to pass.

Blushing at Buffy's words, the girl ducked her head, her gaze remaining firmly fixed upon the wound she tended. "I want to be a healer when I am grown," the child admitted with a shy smile. "Mother lets me help around the Houses of Healing whenever we are in Minas Tirith for Father's business, though I am usually not left to tend to the injured alone," she murmured as she finished spreading the poultice and reached for a bandage roll, a small frown worrying her lips. "All of the healers were called to tend to an injury most grievous, and I fear that I was all that remained."

Buffy felt her momentary reprieve shattered by this single comment, her head beginning to swim. "Indeed?" she weakly returned.

"Oh yes," the girl exclaimed as she wrapped the wrist with a studied concentration before tying off the excess. Finished, she critically eyed her work before slowly nodding her head. "Well, my bandage is not nearly as pretty as Mother's, but it will do," she murmured as she lifted her golden head, her smile brightening. "My name is Finduilas."

"I'm Buffy," the slayer whispered, forcing a brittle smile as she tried to remain focused on the child sitting before her.

"Buffy," the girl mused as she began packing her healing supplies. "Such a strange name."

"So I've been told," the slayer sighed as the door opened, the guards tensing at the sudden intrusion into her small prison. Instantly Buffy felt her muscles tighten as she looked up and into the grave face of the steward himself, his gray eyes, so like his daughter's, quickly landing on the child.

"Finduilas, I would see you return to your sister and brothers now," he stated firmly, his direct gaze piercing the blood-stained slayer.

"But Mother asked me to help Mistress Ioreth today," Finduilas protested as she gathered her supplies in hand, somehow balancing the full bowl on top of the small pile.

Frowning, Faramir stepped quickly into the room and pulled his daughter away from the frozen slayer. "Very well, then, just... just see to your duties and try to stay out of Ioreth and the other healers' way," he directed as he began pushing the child to the door.

Mirroring her father's frown, Finduilas looked questioningly between the steward and her patient, noting the way the young woman's pale features hardened at her father's strange behavior. "As you wish," the girl sighed, taking one last look at the blonde before slipping into the hallway beyond.

For a moment, both Steward and Slayer remained still, contemplating the child's disappearing form. "She's very beautiful," Buffy murmured, breaking the tense silence as she gently cradled her newly wrapped wrist against her chest.

"Our eldest," Faramir returned, his attention turning sharply towards the young woman - obviously assessing whatever threat she posed. "She takes after owyn in appearance, but her spirit is turned more towards the arts of healing than war, such as her grandmother for whom she is named."

"She'll be a good healer someday," Buffy stated as she boldly met the older man's gaze, reading the condemnation in his eyes. For a moment more, they remained locked as such, each challenging the other before Faramir nodded once and turned towards the open door.

"Wait," Buffy called out, her good hand unconsciously stretching towards his retreating back. "Tell me... is Legolas... will he be okay?" she whispered, her voice cracking as she stumbled over her words.

With a heavy sigh, the steward paused on the door's threshold, his jaw tightening in anger as he glared at the floor before him. "I know not," he admitted, the words falling between clenched teeth. "He screams as though something is devouring him."

Immediately Buffy felt the tears burn at her eyes as her thin arms wrapped around her blood-stained dress. "I only wanted to help," she stammered, hating the way that her voice wavered and cracked.

But this time Faramir had no response to her words, and he turned his back to her and left the room with the two silent guards following their lord before slamming the door behind them. Breath catching in her throat, Buffy listened as the lock turned, the sound echoing with a heavy finality as she was once more left alone.

* * *

The room was dark and still, with nothing but the light from the waning moon to illuminate the small chamber. Night had fallen hours ago, cloaking the world in her darkness and abandoning Buffy to her thoughts and fears. Since Finduilas' visit, her stay had been in solitude, save for a serving girl that had brought a fresh dressing gown, identical to the last, and a tray of food and a small glass of water. Buffy had changed into the new gown, and while she had used the water and strips of the ruined gown to clean what she could of the blood from her body, the food remained cold and untouched. As did her heart.

Like a pale wraith, a broken shell of her former fire and strength, Buffy sat upon the hard cot, her back pressed against the stone wall that leeched her warmth and left her body cold and leaden. For hours she had remained thus, her bandaged wrist cradled in her lap and her green-eyed gaze vacant and unseeing. Her body may have been locked in this prison, but her thoughts couldn't be contained. She found her mind wandering, her eyes seeing nothing of the dark room, moving instead to the bright flashes of a past she stubbornly clung to. Though filled with loss and sorrow, these memories were all that were left to her in this small prison where the darkness thrived and where the light was spent.

There was her mom, smiling and laughing, filled with so much life as she twirled in her bright dress, so excited about her coming date and the fact that, for the first time in far too long, she felt _well_ again. She would be dead by that time tomorrow.

There was Xander, so full of love and adoration as Buffy returned from death stronger than ever, killing the Master and finally ending the reign of the one who had caused his childhood friend's death. Five years later he would turn from her in disgust upon learning about her affair with a soulless Spike.

There was Dawn, her large eyes glimmering with unshed tears as they said their final goodbyes upon a rickety tower, a connection forged by monks and maintained by familial love burning between them. Five months later that connection had been severed as Heaven lay between them.

There was Angel, his pained features locked in betrayed confusion as she shoved a sword through his chest and sentenced his undeserving soul to Hell. One year later he returned the favor by turning his back on her and walking away from any chance that they may have had together.

There was Willow, her innocence and devotion shining in her green eyes as she comforted a heartbroken slayer that had just learned that Angel intended to leave her forever. Four years later they would shine with malice as the darkness consumed the witch, driving Willow to madness as Tara's blood peppered her white shirt with crimson stains.

There was Riley, his arms holding her so tight and his lips pressed against her own as they hid from the government that he had sworn to serve. Less than a year later she would drive him into the arms of a vampire to seek the attention that she couldn't give.

There was Anya, whose tears for Buffy's mother trailed down her cheeks as the vengeance demon wept for a mortal life. Buffy would drive a sword through Anya's heart two years later.

There was Spike, his blue eyes so earnest as he declared his love for her, soul or not, his lips greedily claiming her own as he silenced her protests. A few months later he would try to rape her in her own bathroom to take from her that which she had sought to deny.

There was Giles. Oh God, there was Giles, with his warm brown eyes, his reassuring hand upon her shoulder, the strength and support he always willingly offered to his slayer... the man who had been as a father to her for seven years. How could it be that just a few months past she had closed her door in his face? How could she have so heartlessly told him that he no longer had anything to teach her? She had told him that she didn't need him. She had been so very wrong.

And now... and now she could add Mirdan and Legolas to her list of those that she had loved and hurt in some way over her short life. Mirdan was meant to live forever, and he had been killed by the creature that her blood had created. And Legolas...

Buffy slowly lifted one trembling hand and rubbed it against her aching shoulder. She felt so weak and tired, nauseous, and yet sleep was elusive - something that continued to slip from her weary grasp as she sat in the shadows that had become her life. Perhaps she didn't deserve sleep or rest of any kind. Not after what she had done. Or perhaps sleep would finally come if she only knew what had happened to Legolas. If she only knew if he yet lived or... or if she had killed him with her blood.

Shaking her head at the dark thought, Buffy stubbornly turned from her cradled wrist, her gaze despondently moving over the walls and solid door of her new prison. Whatever bit of healing her body had managed to accomplish these past days seemed to have been erased with the loss of that which her own body desperately needed. Whether that loss was the hope that she had gained by being surrounded by warmth and friendship, or the blood that she had lost, even Buffy wasn't quite certain. Now she felt that familiar weakness plague her weary body, reminding her of its presence with the way her neck ached at holding her head aloft - the way her whole body ached with every breath.

Not that it mattered any longer, Buffy decided as she looked away from the cold food that sat against the closed door, her stomach rolling at the mere sight of the glistening broth and the hunk of dried bread. Nothing mattered outside of the condemning thoughts that continued without end. As those traitorous thoughts liked to remind her, she could play the part of victim and pretend that she had no role in the atrocities that had taken place while she had been a captive of Tol Brandir. In Minas Tirith, however, she had no such flimsy shields or excuses. It had been her choice to ply Legolas with her poison, and it was because of her choice that he suffered... or perhaps he was already dead, and she had merely added to his suffering before the inevitable had come. In the end, none of it mattered save one thing:

It had been her choice.

Shaken from her thoughts by the sound of movement outside of her door, Buffy felt her body tense as she heard a quiet murmuring that was interrupted by a heavy thump that rattled against the door's frame. There were many different scenarios that flitted through her weary mind just then of what was waiting outside of that door. It could be that an axe-wielding Gimli stood without, finally having come to seek his revenge. It could also have been a pregnant owyn, come to lay blame upon the one who had brought pain and death into these Houses. There was even the possibility that it was Thoron that stood outside of her closed doorway, come to finish what he had started so many months before when he had left her bound to a stake in the middle of battle. Tilting her head to the side, the slayer expected all of this as a key was fitted to the lock, the unmistakable sound of shifting tumblers echoing hollowly before the knob was turned and the thick wood pushed open - to reveal the one person she certainly had _not_ expected.

"Finduilas?" Buffy queried. She rose unsteadily to her feet, forcing her trembling legs to support her weight. The child's gray eyes, wide and tear-filled, locked onto her own, and in an instant the girl had rushed forward and clasped Buffy around the waist, burying her face in the skirt of the slayer's long, white dress. Her body quivered, and as Buffy instinctively drew the girl close, her bewildered gaze lifted to the shadowed figure that stood in the open doorway.

"No!" Buffy gasped, her heart skipping erratically as she recoiled, dragging the child with her as the dark-elf slipped into the room and flung the dead body of a guard at her feet. "What are you doing here?" she demanded as she held the frightened girl tighter against her.

"I am following your Legolas' example," Vashnak explained, his voice curt as he hastily wiped the edge of his gleaming sword on the dead man's tunic. "You were his shield when he came to my home, and I found mine wandering the halls of this building."

"Nanny sent me to fetch Father," Finduilas whispered as she clutched the material of Buffy's long dress. "My baby brother, Boromir, is teething and will not stop crying," she hastily explained as her tears began to soak through the thick fabric, wetting Buffy's legs with their warmth. "But _he_ badly hurt all of my escort."

"I didn't hurt them, I killed them," Vashnak corrected as he adjusted the overlarge black tunic he had obviously stolen from a guard earlier in the day, his hands running over the shining silver stitching of the White Tree of Gondor.

As the girl's muffled sobs grew louder, Buffy gently ran one shaking hand over her tousled locks. "Shh, it's okay," she soothed awkwardly. "Everything's gonna be okay," she murmured as the girl trembled against her.

"Are you sure you should be so quick to make such a promise? You can barely stand," Vashnak pointed out with a cruel smile as he began edging the door shut. "By the way," he added as it closed with a quiet snick, sealing the three into the small chamber, "how did your golden-haired elf die?"

His words, spoken so casually, cut more deeply than any blade he could have wielded against her. Buffy swayed, one hand reaching back to steady herself against the stone wall. Tensing against her, Finduilas turned her face so that she could watch the dark-elf through one narrowed eye with the fearful look of one who didn't want to hear another word, but was powerless to resist.

"According to the rumors I have been hearing all day," Vashnak continued, "not only did your evil allies try to rescue you, but you also poisoned the Lord of Ithilien with your blood. They say that the blood of the king's friend stains your hands, just as yours stained his lips. Tell me, did you really try sharing our gift with him?" he asked as Buffy began to quiver, her features paling even further.

"Shove it," she growled as Finduilas pulled away, her frightened eyes spilling their tears as she looked to Buffy in confusion and horror - and betrayal. Buffy had only just met this girl hours before, and already she was teaching the child the fine art of betrayal. Releasing her hold on the small child, Buffy tried to show in this small act that she had no reason to fear her.

After all, why should Finduilas fear Buffy when Vashnak was also enclosed in the small chamber?

"You must come with me," the dark-elf hissed, not understanding Buffy's words so much as recognizing the vehemence behind them as he flung a long, dark cloak at the small slayer.

Instinctively catching the heavy material, Buffy looked down upon it and heard a brittle laugh echo in the small room. A brittle laugh that was her own. Snapping her jaw shut, Buffy lifted eyes that were fiery once more as she glared at the elf. "You've got to be kidding me!" she hissed as her hand clenched the rich cloth in her tight grip. "Do you honestly think that I'm just going to walk out of here? With you? You're the one that _did this to me!_" she cried, trying to ignore the way Finduilas shrank from her, sliding along the wall until she had pressed into the corner. There the girl crouched, as far away from the slayer and Vashnak as possible.

Following her gaze, Vashnak eyed the terrified child with a smile that grew almost tender. "If you do not, the girl's blood will also be on your hands," he promised as Finduilas' buried her face against her knees.

For a moment Buffy remained frozen by Vashnak's threat as she felt her tensed muscles once more begin to shake, this time from the many different emotions that seethed within her. She couldn't go back with him. She wouldn't! There was no way in hell she would permit him to drag her back to that place of horror and despair, where life was reduced to a dull dwindling of time; a gradual, inexorable slide toward death. She had told herself time and time again that she would die before doing so. But how could she refuse when it was no longer her life hanging in the balance?

"If you call for help, the girl will be dead before the guards can reach her," Vashnak warned, misreading Buffy's hesitation and the emotions that flickered across her pale face. Hand tightening on the sword's hilt, Vashnak edged closer to the shaking child. "Come with me or the girl dies."

Buffy's mind raced. She was a slayer and she had to think of the good of the world before anything else. If she went with Vashnak, it wasn't only her own life that she was sacrificing, but potentially hundreds if not thousands more. With her blood, Vashnak would continue his work on building a dark army. She couldn't go with him, no matter the cost... and yet as these thoughts warred within her, Buffy found herself gazing upon the terrified face of a child. A child who looked at her in horror; a child whose life rested in her hands.

Scowling, Buffy angrily turned away from Finduilas' terrified face. Where was the slayer who had been willing to send Angel to hell to prevent the end of the world? Where was the slayer who was willing to fight Willow to prevent the Wiccan from hurting anyone else? Where was the slayer who shoved a sword through Anya's heart when she had become a vengeance demon again? And where was the slayer who had told her friends, her family, and the Potentials alike that she would sacrifice any one of them to make things right?

With an angry sigh, Buffy realized that wherever that slayer was, she apparently hadn't left a forwarding address. That slayer had been replaced by the slayer that had been willing to let the world end if it meant saving her sister. She had been willing to sacrifice the world for just one life. Or perhaps that was the real problem. Maybe they were all the same slayer, and that slayer had only one weakness: innocence. She was willing to sacrifice those who understood the risks and those who were players in the game, but those who were too young to truly be apart were safe - and it was only the world that paid the consequences.

"Did I even have a choice?" Buffy muttered as she lifted the cloak and draped it over her shoulders, her fingers fumbling with the clasp. Stepping away from the wall's support, Buffy wavered only slightly before she found her waning balance - a balance that was quickly offset as Vashnak strode forward and grabbed Finduilas roughly by the arm, propelling the child to her feet and shoving her in Buffy's direction.

"What are you doing? Leave her alone!" the slayer snapped as the girl once more clung to her skirts, evidently deciding that Buffy was still far more stable and safe than the dark-haired elf that had killed the soldiers who had been her escort.

"Come now. We both know that this only works if she comes as well," Vashnak returned as he grabbed the child's hood and flipped it over her teary features, turning to do the same so that Buffy's long blonde hair was hidden by the dark material. Silently, he then adjusted his own cloak - a different cloak than the one he had been wearing earlier. The one that had once belonged to Mirdan.

Closing her eyes as though this physical act could somehow dampen the grief that surged anew through her veins, Buffy found herself leaning heavily upon Finduilas' small shoulders. Mirdan had been so kind to her during their travels south, always curious and willing to laugh at her stupid mistakes. And now he was dead.

Thinking of all that the kind-hearted elf had been forced to endure before he had been killed filled Buffy with a burning anger that temporarily pushed the grief aside as Vashnak stepped to Finduilas' other side, his long arm wrapping around both of them, with the child pressed between the slayer and elf. As one unit they moved towards the closed door, Buffy absently helping the girl step over the guard's bloody body as they slipped into the dark and silent hallway, Vashnak confidently navigating them through the twisting labyrinth.

The slayer had never been anywhere in all of Minas Tirith aside from the chamber that she had awoken in and the winding halls that had somehow led her into the protected Gardens. Thus, it was no surprise when she became lost and disoriented in a matter of minutes as Vashnak guided them through the twisting maze - and yet even Buffy was able to recognize the grand foyer of the Houses of Healing for what it was as they finally reached the closed front doors. Breath hissing between clenched teeth, Buffy allowed Vashnak to pull them forward - when one familiar voice called out, stilling their movements with just one word.

"Finduilas?"

* * *

Instinctively the small child turned at her father's call, her large eyes locked upon the steward as he stepped into the foyer from an adjacent hall. "Finduilas, what in all of Arda are you doing here at this time of night? Did Nanny send for-" the steward continued, his words faltering as he finally noted his daughter's terrified, tear-stained features. "Finduilas?" he murmured, his features creasing in concern as he started towards his daughter, only to have his steps falter as the guard that accompanied her pulled the child against him, his gleaming sword lifting to her small, pale neck.

Freezing as Finduilas' terrified whimper echoed in the empty foyer, Faramir quickly regarded the shadowed guard, unable to see anything past the hood that masked the man's features. Yet even if he was unable to recognize the man holding his daughter, the short figure that suddenly sagged against a far wall was unmistakable. And in that moment, everything became swiftly clear.

"You are Vashnak," Faramir stated, turning to regard the tall figure. While Aragorn had been ensconced in the Houses of Healing, the steward had taken control of the Royal Guard that continued to search for one elusive elven opponent, even as he sorted through the gory mess that had been left in the enclosed gardens, trying to determine what had happened to shed so much elven blood upon the beautiful grounds. After Gimli had revealed Buffy's treachery, the steward told himself that he couldn't trust whatever information he could learn from the small slayer, even if a part of him whispered that the real reason he didn't approach the young woman was for fear of what he would do to her in his anger. Legolas had been his friend and comrade for over nine years now, and it was because of this young woman that his friend had been so mortally wounded.

Thus, after finding his daughter binding Buffy's incriminating wound, Faramir had forgone interrogating the prisoner and instead pried Thoron away from Legolas' side long enough to learn that the older elf had not recognized the two dead elves that bore the crest of Ithilien. Elrohir, on the other hand, most certainly did.

The younger elf had been hurrying past the room that held the dead elves when his glance had fallen upon one of their pale faces. The dark-haired twin had nearly dropped the satchel of herbs he had been carrying in his surprise, and had quickly explained that these were not Elves. They were _Mornedhel_. Which meant that his Men were not searching for one of the Eldar, but rather a dark-elf - or more likely, _the_ dark-elf that had begun this mess. The dark-elf that now held his trembling daughter against him, his blood-stained sword pressed against her neck.

"I am," the elf returned with a voice that was as beautiful as any of the Eldar, breaking Faramir from his chaotic thoughts. It defied all reason that their enemy had not only avoided capture, but had somehow found his firstborn child, recaptured his prisoner, and now brandished both before the wearied steward.

"Then release my daughter, for she has naught to do with any of this," Faramir continued, his voice hard as he took a slow, measured step closer.

Yet instead of doing as commanded, Vashnak held the girl closer as he curiously eyed the approaching man. "Who are you? What is your station here?"

"I-"

"He's just a healer," Buffy interrupted from where she leaned against a stone wall, her voice sharp. "He's Ioreth's assistant," she added as the steward's piercing glare raked over her form. "He's not important, and neither is the girl. If you just leave them alone I'll go with you," the slayer continued, her voice filled with a futile hope as Vashnak's narrowed eyes dismissed her before returning to Faramir.

"You lie," he stated, his voice flat as he tightened his hold on the squirming child. "The girl came from the seventh circle with an armed escort, and no healer would wear such finery," he added as he nodded towards Faramir's rich clothing. "Who are you?" he repeated as he pushed the sharp blade against Finduilas' neck, breaking the skin as a small drop of blood glistened in the shadowed light.

As his daughter's terrified whimper pierced straight through his heart, Faramir shot the small slayer a cold glare, daring her to contradict him. "I am Faramir, Steward of Gondor," he answered without hesitation, his stormy eyes shining with all of the authority granted to him in his position.

"The steward," Vashnak returned, his gaze becoming thoughtful as he spared a brief smile for the weakened slayer. "It seems as though our exit has just become that much easier," he stated as he lowered the sword a fraction from the girl's throat.

Nodding slowly, his heart hammering in his chest, Faramir edged another step closer. "Release my daughter and I will-"

"What?" Vashnak interrupted with a curt shake of his head, his dark eyes, so like those of every other of the firstborn that Faramir had ever met, piercing him with their sharp edges. "Allow us to go free?" he continued, his melodious voice now mocking as he glared at the tall man. "I am not some feeble-minded orc, and it is time you realize this. If I let the child go I lose my only bargaining chip with both you and her," he continued as he nodded towards the slayer. "No, your daughter shall be joining us in our travels to the Main Gate."

"No, she will not," Faramir countered, his face flushing with anger as he glared at Vashnak. "If you do not release her I will-"

"Call for your guards and see her dead before they arrive?" Vashnak questioned with a tired sigh as he nodded his head towards Buffy. "We have already had this discussion and have gone through all of the different possibilities and have already come to the same conclusions. Thus, let us skip that part and move on to the understanding that you, like her, are powerless to do aught but whatever I say," he stated as he released the child long enough to pull a small dagger from his belt, replacing his sword in its sheath in one fluid motion. "You can start by ensuring that she," he added with a vague wave towards Buffy, "makes it to the gates before disgracing herself with her weakness," he finished as he wrapped his arm around Finduilas' slender waist, turning to the side to illustrate that the blade was still pressed dangerously against the child's side.

For a brief moment, Faramir hesitated as his eyes slid down to meet his daughter's terrified gaze, trying to instill as much comfort, confidence and love in that single glance. And then that moment was shattered as Vashnak dug the tip of the blade into Finduilas' side, causing the young girl to cry out in surprise and pain. Features hardening, Faramir glared at the dark-elf before turning and crossing the empty foyer to Buffy's side in a few long strides. Reaching out, he pulled the silent woman away from the wall, his arm wrapping around her waist in a grip that was much tighter than it needed to be, his features stony.

"Then let us get this over with, shall we?" Faramir bit out as he dragged Buffy towards the doors to the Houses of Healing and into the cool night beyond. His back was against the proverbial wall, and Faramir knew this as he led their little party towards the heavily guarded sixth gate, Vashnak and Finduilas following a few feet behind him and Buffy. Silently they moved down the deserted street, the armed guards murmuring their greetings and bowing to their Steward as they hastily opened one gate after another, allowing them to move unmolested ever lower through the circles of the city. Yet such a passage took time - time in which Faramir soon began to support more and more of Buffy's weight as his mind frantically turned in circles, desperately searching for some way to end this without harming his daughter.

After all, though his father, Lord Denethor, had boasted many things of his brother, Boromir, and little of himself, even the proud steward had to admit that he had raised no fool in his youngest son. Faramir knew that once they cleared the final gate, Vashnak would have no further use for him and his daughter. The dark-elf would kill them both without hesitation, and yet as the quartet cleared the third gate and began moving through the wide streets of the second circle, the black-garbed guards none the wiser to the dagger that was pressed against his daughter's side nor to their steward's plight, Faramir began to realize that for the first time in many years, there was nothing he could do to keep those he loved safe from harm.

Steps unconsciously slowing, Faramir tightened his grip around Buffy's waist, forcing the slayer to remain on her feet as he once more tore his gaze away from where his daughter shuffled behind him, his vacant gaze locking upon the stone street before him. He couldn't alert the guards, for one misstep and his daughter's life would be forfeit. Yet he couldn't allow them to pass through the Main Gate, for without they would be far from help and once more, his daughter's life would be spent. Either option spelled death for his eldest, and yet his increasingly frantic thoughts couldn't look past these to find a solution.

The loud clanging of a single bell suddenly broke the silence, startling the steward from his circuitous thoughts as it rang discordantly off the stone walls of the city. Faramir stumbled to an abrupt halt as the tolling was quickly taken up by other bells scattered throughout Minas Tirith. With a sharp intake of breath Vashnak spun toward him. "What does this mean?" the dark-elf hissed as he drew alongside the steward and slayer, one pale hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword while the other pressed the knife against Finduilas' side.

"The King has ordered the city to be locked down," Faramir breathed, unsure whether this news spoke well or ill for his increasingly frantic situation. "Your treachery has been discovered," he continued as he cast his narrowed gaze upon the dark-haired elf.

"Then we best move faster," Vashnak returned, his voice icy as Finduilas' whimpered softly at the prick of steel against the sensitive flesh that separated the dagger from the edge of her ribs.

Pushed forward by his daughter's small cry of pain, Faramir hefted Buffy against him as he hurried down the stone street, refusing to allow the slayer's stumbling gait to slow their passage. As the alarm continued to sound throughout the city, lights began to appear in the homes above the shops they passed, curtains parting to allow fearful faces to peek through, desperate eyes searching for the danger that had once more come to their city. It felt like hours passed as the steward led them through the wide avenue, even though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before the second gate finally came into sight - a gate that, unlike the barriers before, did not swing open as he neared the finely crafted portal.

"Open the gate," Faramir ordered as he paused abreast of the large barrier, his gray eyes flashing to one of the six guards that stood before his post, dozens of other men posted along top of the high wall.

"I am sorry, my Lord, but I cannot," the man quickly stammered with an awkward bow, the other guards shifting nervously beside their comrade.

"I said to open the gate!" the steward growled, undaunted by the man's hesitation as Vashnak shifted ominously behind him.

"Terribly sorry, my Lord, but I cannot open the gate unless ordered by the King-"

"I am your _Steward_, and as such you _will_ obey my command!" Faramir cut in, his sharp tone causing the men to draw back in surprise. He had never before raised his voice to any soldier, but with each passing moment, the steward felt Vashnak's patience wane - a fact that was proven as Finduilas muffled a cry of pain, her ragged breathing echoing loudly behind him.

"Of course, my Lord, but I cannot-"

"_Just open the damn gate!_" Buffy interrupted, surprising everyone with her scalding demand as Finduilas' terrified whimpers turned into soft sobs.

"But my Lady," the guard began, his mouth falling slack in shock at the petite young woman that had dared to speak so.

Panic consuming him, Faramir took a threatening step towards the quivering guard. "_I SAID TO OPEN THIS GATE!_" he roared.

"HOLD YOUR POSITION!"

Quickly turning, Faramir found himself rooted in place as a whole contingent of guards filled the street behind them - guards that had not been there a moment before. Stunned, the steward couldn't help but wonder how they had missed their approach, even as the soldiers parted to allow Gimli, Thoron, and Aragorn himself to move to the front of the thriving mass. For a moment, Faramir held his friend's silver-eyed gaze before he slowly, deliberately turned his back to his king. "Open the gate," he rasped, feeling his veins fill with ice as Finduilas' cries became more pronounced.

"Soldier, do not open that gate!" Aragorn ordered, his clear voice ringing in the stone street as the king held his magnificent sword before him.

Breath whistling angrily between his teeth, Faramir turned once more, his eyes glittering in the dark night. "Aragorn, let us go," he hissed as he tightened his hold around Buffy's waist, noting as the guards slowly dispersed until there was naught but an unmovable gate standing at their backs.

"I will not," Aragorn countered, his cold, calm voice a stark contrast against Faramir's frantic arguments.

"But you must!" Faramir countered, his words shrill. Logic, the steward's usual companion, had abandoned him the moment that Finduilas' life had been threatened. He couldn't think past the fact that his daughter would be killed if they were not allowed through the closed gate, and with this in mind, he released his tight hold on Buffy and stalked towards his king. Yet the moment that he stepped clear of both Buffy and Vashnak, the soldiers that had been guarding the second gate rushed forward at some unseen signal, their hands tangling in his fine robes as they manhandled their steward into the relative safety of the soldiers that formed a line between their king and their prey. Frantic, Faramir struggled against the men that held him back, his desperate eyes locked upon Finduilas' terrified, tear-stained features as Vashnak slowly backed against the closed gate, his fair features impassive despite the many swords and arrows that were leveled at him and his captive.

"Release the child," the king ordered, his gaze stern.

Laughing softly at this command, Vashnak pressed the dagger even further into the girl's side, causing her sharp cry of pain to speak his thoughts more clearly than words would have allowed.

Gaze narrowing at this display, Aragorn's features hardened. "Release the girl," he repeated, his voice a deadly command as his eyes slowly, deliberately turned past the dark-elf to rest upon the slayer that stood forgotten beside him. "Release the girl or we kill your prize," he stated as the trained arrows moved as one until every single shaft was aimed at Buffy's heart.


	26. Chapter 26

**Equinoxium: Chapter 26  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

For an endless moment, Aragorn's threat hung before them all as Buffy's solemn gaze met that of the King. His eyes, once filled with warmth and kindness, were now empty and devoid of all friendship; flat gray slates that reflected the moonlight and the flickering flames of the torches that were bracketed upon the sealed gate behind her. Gone was the quiet healer who had helped see to her injuries. In his place stood the King that governed the race of Men and who held her life in his hands.

"You bluff," Vashnak stated, his clear voice cutting through the thick, heavy silence as he tightened his hold around Finduilas' slender frame. "The elves have already proven that they value her life when they did not kill her at Tol Brandir. You will not kill her now," he reasoned with far more surety than Buffy was feeling at the moment, particularly since the only elf that she could see was Thoron - the one elf who hadn't even tried to hide his dislike for her from the very beginning.

"Her life was spared then," Aragorn acknowledged with a slow nod, drawing Buffy's attention away from the tip of Thoron's arrow. "But it was spared by the Elf that she betrayed earlier today," he continued, his tightly controlled voice finally slipping to allow a hint of grief to color his rough words. "The one that you killed."

Gasping raggedly, Buffy felt the world tilt as she stumbled back, as if seeking to distance herself from Aragorn's words. "No," she whispered, one hand pressing against a heart that she could literally feel breaking. Recoiling, she turned wide eyes to the king, shaking her head as she struggled to grasp what he had just said.

Legolas _couldn't_ be dead. He was supposed to sail to the Undying Lands to be reunited with his father and brothers. He was _immortal!_ It didn't matter that she had seen the gaping wounds with her own eyes and felt the warmth of his blood as it coated her skin. It didn't matter that she had heard his screams. It didn't even matter that she knew death was inevitable when one had sustained such mortal wounds, for some part of her had refused to believe that Death's lurking shadow could possibly take hold within the strong elf.

But in Aragorn's hard eyes she could find no comfort - no relief from these damning words. He was Legolas' dearest friend, and she knew that he would have never left the elf's side unless there was no more life left in the archer's body. Aragorn's eyes were cold and empty, and with a pained sob, Buffy understood the brutal truth: the fair-haired elf was dead. He had taken her from the hell of Tol-Brandir, had spared her life and given her hope. He had been her truest friend in this strange world, and now his immortal life had been snuffed like a bright flame smothered between cruel fingertips.

"Her life has no worth to us," Aragorn continued, seemingly immune to the torment that filled Buffy's body with every beat of her stammering heart. His eyes were closed to her. They were flat and unyielding and cruel in their raking glare.

"And these are the creatures that you choose to align yourself with?" Vashnak murmured to her, his sibilant whisper sliding over her devastated form. "They want you dead."

"Rather dead than back in your hands," Aragorn returned, his voice laced with venom. "We will not allow her to leave these walls to fuel your army."

"Oh, so you wish to be her jailer, then," Vashnak laughed as he turned dark eyes to Buffy, the slayer listlessly meeting his narrowed gaze. "They wish to forever lock you in these walls, to imprison you in stone. I offer to make you our queen," he hissed as Buffy's hot tears caused his body to waver before the crystalline drops broke free to trail down her cheeks. "You will be cherished and honored. You will never want for anything ever again," he continued as she began to sway weakly, her strength abandoning her.

"I'd want for my humanity," Buffy whispered as she turned away, her hand now gripping her left shoulder as the pain in her chest began to blossom in a wave of agony. It grew in long, pinching tendrils that raked over her cold body, bringing throbbing pain that seemed more real than the world around her.

Scowling at Buffy's response, Vashnak readjusted his grip on Finduilas' trembling form as he turned back to Aragorn. "Either way, it seems we are at an impasse. Again. For if you kill what is mine, I kill the child and if I kill the child, you kill what is mine. It seems as though a trade is the only answer."

"No trade," Aragorn countered, his words temporarily grounding Buffy and renewing Faramir's frantic struggles. "We will never allow her to leave this place alive," the king vowed as the slayer turned incredulous eyes upon the stern-faced man.

While she understood all too well his refusal to allow her back into enemy hands, a fact that she was almost grateful for, to do so at the cost of Faramir's eldest daughter was something entirely different. Bargaining with her own life was one thing, but to do so with the life of an innocent? Frowning, Buffy blocked out her own grief and pain as she glared at Aragorn, Finduilas' terrified sobs and Faramir's frantic pleas the only disruption to the heavy silence that had fallen. The First had told her that in order to be a general, you had to be able to make the difficult decisions. But if these were the kind of decisions that it had been talking about, it was evident that Aragorn was far more suited to this role than she ever was. She was a Slayer and Slayers weren't meant to lead - not even armies of terrified girls.

Slayers were meant to stand alone.

Slayers were meant to die alone.

Then again, it was that alone part that had always given Buffy so much trouble in the past. If left alone for too long, she soon lost track of what she was fighting for. She lost her will to fight. She had lost that will when she had sentenced Angel's soul to an eternity in hell and thought that everyone had turned from her. She had lost that will again after her mother had died and when the world became too much. She had even lost that will when the agony of being ripped from heaven and forced to live in a world that was so harsh, vibrant, and loud that it may as well have been hell. Here in Middle-earth she had encountered her weakness once more when a prisoner of Tol Brandir, only to recover a semblance of that earlier peace thanks to the friendship that Legolas had offered.

And now Legolas was dead.

What would become of her now?

Suddenly a loud clamoring of many voices broke through Buffy's muddled thoughts, their startled shouts and exclamations riding on the frigid night.

"Soldier, report!" Aragorn demanded as sharp gray eyes landed upon one of the guards that stood atop the looming second wall.

"My Lord, it is Osgiliath!" the man reported, listening to the cries of his fellows that were posted upon the stone rampart of the massive wall of the circle below - the final circle and the outer wall of Minas Tirith. Yet with each echoing shout, the man's face became more and more pale as he quickly turned, his eyes large in his young face. "Sire, the city burns!" he shouted, his voice betraying the panic that was spreading to all who could see the faint flickers of firelight from the city that straddled the river Anduin, and stood between Minas Tirith and the walls of Mordor.

"Osgiliath?" Aragorn muttered, his brow creased as Buffy slowly turned to the only one amongst them to receive this news with a knowing smile.

"Did you really think that I came alone?" Vashnak asked, his silky voice cutting through the faint echo of screams that were carried into the second circle by the brisk wind.

"Sire, the people flee Osgiliath!" the soldier continued, his voice adding to those of the men that shifted anxiously beside their king.

Aragorn glared at the smug dark-elf. "Open the Main Gate and allow our people entrance!" he ordered, his gaze never once straying from the one who held Faramir's youngest daughter before him. "But allow no elves to pass through the outer gates!" he thundered as Buffy's gaze shifted between Vashnak and the furious king.

She didn't know this city that she had awoken in, and to her it seemed as though they had moved from the Houses of Healing into a maze of tall buildings and high stone walls that pressed against either side of the wide avenue. She had lost count of the number of heavily fortified gates they had passed through as Vashnak had forced his three captives to move ever lower through the twisting streets of Minas Tirith. They had passed by a large stable and exited the first gate only to turn immediately to their left, passing through a tunnel that was carved through stone to emerge through the other side at yet another heavily fortified gate. Once through this new barrier, they then turned back in the direction that they had just walked, only now a level lower to walk even farther than the first time to arrive at the next gate. They had continued like this, twisting back and forth and ever lower through the sleeping city. A city that was about to receive an influx of people from a nearby town that was busy getting razed by the creatures that her blood had created.

Eyes slipping shut as this thought slammed against her, Buffy felt the rest of the world dissolve, Aragorn and Vashnak's angry words becoming muted as she slowly began to understand the answer to her earlier question. As a slayer, the one person who was tasked to keep the darkness at bay, Buffy was no stranger to carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, nor to the responsibility that was forever laid at her feet. She had tried to escape it before, but long ago she had come to realize that no matter where she ran, this responsibility would always be hers to bear. By now, she was accustomed to living with the knowledge that by allowing one vampire or demon to escape her grasp, it could spell death for an innocent. Yet how could that knowledge even begin to compare with the understanding that because of her, new friends were dying and entire cities full of innocent strangers were having their peace shattered and their lives destroyed? On her world she thwarted evil plots and prevented apocalypse after apocalypse, but never had she been responsible for so much innocent death.

Never before had she failed so spectacularly.

Feeling that great weight shift in its incessant press upon her narrow shoulders, Buffy finally understood the decisions that Aragorn was forced to make. No, a slayer wasn't meant to lead armies into battle and to their deaths. Death was something that a slayer lived and breathed - something that was hers to give. Yet death was also something that a slayer coveted. It was personal and her only precious burden. Thus while a slayer wasn't meant to lead armies, she _was_ meant to be her own army. She was meant to make the kind of decisions that would mean life or death for entire worlds. And right now she felt one of those decisions waver before her, for in the end, what was one life when she could spare so many others?

Features grim, Buffy lifted her eyes as the sounds of a panicked, frightened world once more clamored for her attention. By now the screams of the fleeing citizens of Osgiliath were unmistakable, their terrified voices vying with Faramir's hoarse shouts, Finduilas' teary cries for her father, and the angry words between Aragorn and Vashnak. But Buffy was silent as she looked upon the soldiers that stood beside their liege, their arms trembling with strain as the arrows remained trained upon her.

One life given.

Finding the one she sought, Buffy's green eyes locked with the immortal gaze that had seen hundreds and thousands of years of service to a king that had departed these shores for lands that would never see the death that she had brought to this world; that would never see the pain that her blood had inflicted upon one of their fair children. The pain that she had inflicted upon her only friend and the one that this elf had been charged to protect. The one that they both had failed.

Thousands of lives spared.

Meeting that immortal gaze, Buffy eased her trembling hand from her aching shoulder and gently patted it against her heart, tapping her chest in time with the stammering cadence which hammered painfully against her breast. For a moment, the tall, dark-haired elf tilted his head quizzically to the side before his eyes widened in understanding. Slowly, he nodded his acceptance, a small glimmer of something shining in his eyes as Buffy's hand fell back to her side.

A willing trade.

Buffy watched as Thoron's fingers released their tireless hold on the taut bowstring with a soft twang, his green-fletched arrow cutting through the air with a shrill whistle as it screamed towards her heart. Time seemed to slow as her eyes remained locked on that sharpened point that sang its promise of an end to all pain and uncertainty. A promise that spoke of reunions with those that she had lost to death, and a return to that beautiful place that she barely remembered. A promise that would finally bring her home.

She knew what was to become of her now. Closing her eyes, Buffy awaited her final end with a peace that had long been denied her.

A peace that was shattered as a body staggered against her, rocking her back a couple of steps as an unmistakable voice bellowed his curse aloud.

"_Bloody hell!_"

Eyes flying open, Buffy felt as though her heart had completely stopped beating as silence fell upon the stone street, every eye riveted upon the platinum-haired man with an arrow lodged in his shoulder. The arrow that he had unwittingly taken for her. "Spike?" Buffy whispered as his body turned, her eyes frantically tracing the pale, chiseled features, the familiar spiked hair, and the lean form that was clothed in black leather and form-fitting jeans.

"Bloody hell that hurts!" Spike growled as he tentatively touched the shaft that protruded from his right shoulder, his pale fingers coming away dripping with blood. "Damnit, Slayer, why do I always seem to be taking arrows for you?" he demanded, intense blue eyes meeting hers for the briefest of moments before his handsome face shifted, his brow extending, his cheek bones becoming more defined, and his eyes glowing yellow as his canines lengthened into twin fangs. Growling, he seized the end of the arrow and ripped it from his shoulder before throwing the bloody shaft to the stone street beside him.

And in that moment, pandemonium erupted.

"Demon! Demon!" the men shouted as they charged towards Spike, the vampire lifting the sword he carried and meeting their frenzied thrusts with practiced ease. Just as quickly Buffy felt strong hands grip her shoulders as she was bustled back and pushed against the stone wall, a large, bulky frame bending low as a familiar tanned face that was framed with shaggy black hair was pushed before her.

"Buffy, are you alright?" he demanded, warm, beautiful brown eyes worriedly meeting her own.

"Xander?" Buffy returned, the beloved name no more than a pained, ragged whisper as her eyes greedily devoured her friend's boyish features, feeling the tears cloud her vision.

"In the flesh," the young man guaranteed with a small, goofy smile as he gently squeezed her hand in his large, calloused grip. "Now just stay down," he ordered as he gently pushed her until she was pressed against the wall, a wry smile flitting across his lips at the obvious irony of the carpenter protecting the slayer. Turning, he then stepped forward, moving protectively before her as he raised a crossbow threateningly towards any that dared come near him or his charge.

Nodding dumbly, Buffy slouched against the wall's support as small tremors wracked her bent frame, her head spinning maddeningly as she drew quick, shallow breaths. She didn't know how any of this was possible. She couldn't understand how both Xander and Spike, two of those that she had resigned herself to never see again, could now be standing with her in Middle-earth. It was all so impossible and far too much for her to comprehend as she looked through dazed eyes at a sea of black-clothed men that surged around Spike's lean frame.

He was stunning to behold, moving with a grace and speed that belied all reason and left the men sorely unmatched. He was like Legolas, Buffy realized with a feverish start. The only difference lay in their beginnings, for despite Spike's soul, his was a form that was entrenched in darkness while Legolas had been filled with blinding light. Spike was of the shadows while Legolas had been of the starlight. And she... she was mired somewhere in between. She was a creature of darkness that had been created by Man to protect the light. Her strength came from demons but it was used to destroy the darkness in which they thrived. She was a living contradiction. Or perhaps living was too strong of a word.

Hissing as her frantically pumping heart caused a numbing wave of agony, Buffy turned her eyes away - and then felt her breath catch as she caught sight of the tall, brown-haired figure that moved with a similar grace and speed on the other side of the bleached-vampire. He swung and parried with a long broadsword in tight, familiar arcs around his wider frame, his dark coat billowing around him. In a brief lull, his warm brown eyes met her own and she felt transfixed by Angel's piercing stare as they silently asked if she was alright. Nodding shakily, she watched as he flashed her a brief reassuring smile before he became lost in the melee.

Eyes slipping shut, Buffy slowly shook her head before searching once more for Spike and Angel, wondering if they were some sort of hallucination or if they had been no more than a trick of the flickering torch light. But as her eyes slid open, she found herself riveted by Xander's quiet surety as he stood guard before her, warning away any who tried to come too close.

There was no way that she could be imagining this. There was no way that she could be in the grip of some sort of madness, lost to her dreams and nightmares. Even during her brief encounter with insanity in Tol Brandir, never had her demons been this real. Never had her mind supplied so much scurrying movement, cloying smells, aching feeling and loud sound. There was the glint of flashing blades, the speeding blur of loosed arrows, and the awkward and graceful movements of those who fought with a fierce vengeance before her. There was the sterile scent of winter, the stench of burning wood and of fire-eaten oil, and the unmistakable smell of freshly spilled blood. There was numbing cold as the wind brushed frozen tendrils against her cheek, and then there was blinding pain as agony coursed through her veins with each trembling breath. There was the clang of metal upon metal, the twang of taut bowstrings being released, the moans of the wounded and the war cries of those who still pressed on - and there was Finduilas' soft, terrified sobs which somehow carried above the rest.

Turning to the side, Buffy watched as a shadowed figure leaned over the girl where she huddled against the closed gate - a shadowed figure that was a little too broad and short to be Vashnak. _Vashnak!_ Desperate to know where her tormentor had gone, the slayer frantically turned her eyes to the throng of fighting men before a man's pained cry caused her to lift her attention to the stone wall above and behind her. There, backlit by the wan moonlight, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the dark-elf before he disappeared over the lip of the final step that led onto the rampart of the second wall - a wall that had been constructed to keep people out, not in. Horrified, Buffy saw that the dark-elf had taken full advantage of the confusion to make his escape up the stairwell to the ramparts above, killing any that stood in his way.

"Can someone tell me why King Arthur and all the bloody blokes from the round table are out to get Buffy?"

Distracted by Spike's shouted demand, Buffy turned back in time to witness another guard drop in an unconscious heap before the vampire's sword. Both Spike and Angel were on the defensive, having arrived in the middle of a situation that they obviously didn't understand. Instinctually, that meant that both had opted for non-lethal force - a fact for which Buffy was eternally grateful. At this point, she doubted that she could handle any more guilt added to the burden that she already carried.

"And what the hell are you supposed to be?" the vampire continued as Gimli stepped forward to replace the fallen guard, his axe raised threateningly before him. "One of that Snow Bird's lackeys? Or are you with that Dorothy bint?"

"I am a Dwarf, demon, and you would do well to remember that," the stout-warrior promised, a feral smile hidden beneath his long red beard.

"The Snow Bird," Spike confirmed as he eyed his adversary. "So which one are you and where are the other six? And you better be careful with that," he added with a lazy smirk as he eyed the weapon that was almost longer than the dwarf. A smirk that was promptly wiped from his face as he scrabbled back to avoid the first, precise swing.

"Spike! Would you quit talking and get with the fighting?" Angel demanded, causing Buffy's head to swivel in his direction in time to witness Aragorn himself stepping forward to face her ex-lover. Aragorn who, according to Legolas, was the most skilled swordsman in all of Middle-earth. Breath catching in her throat, Buffy watched with wide eyes as the two began to exchange vicious blows. Angel was good with a sword - she knew this from personal experience. Yet just by looking at the way that Aragorn carried himself and the long, beautifully crafted sword that he wielded, she suddenly knew that the vampire wasn't nearly good enough. And while Angel wouldn't kill Aragorn, by the grim and determined look in the king's eye, she knew that the king harbored no such restraints.

"No," Buffy gasped, her hand clawing at her shoulder as the agony pulsed through her body with every stammering beat of her heart. "No, don't hurt him," she moaned as she tried to push away from the wall, Xander's cautious hand holding her in place.

"Finduilas, are you well? Finduilas!"

Head snapping back to where the little girl knelt, Buffy saw that Faramir now held the shadowed figure against the stone wall at the tip of a borrowed sword. Immediately the trembling child staggered to her feet before throwing herself at her father's side, burying her face in his tunic as the steward's free hand dropped to her golden head. But then Buffy heard Angel's cry of pain and she felt her attention diverted as she turned back to find that Aragorn had managed to best Angel, the vampire clutching his bleeding hand against his chest.

"No," Buffy stammered as she pushed away from the wall, weakly forcing Xander aside as she staggered to the king and vampire. Everything was happening too fast, and Buffy's overloaded senses didn't have time to process the chaotic night. All she knew was that somehow Angel was there, and if Aragorn decided to behead him instead of running him through with his blade, the ensouled vampire would be gone forever.

"No, Aragorn stop!" she pleaded as she pushed herself past the startled soldiers, hearing Xander's frantic shouts as he chased after her desperate form. But there was no stopping her now, weakness, pain, or confusion be damned, and she rushed forward, throwing herself between vampire and king, Aragorn's sword leveled at her breast. "Please don't," she begged as her eyes met the tall man's silver glare. A glare that hardened as it lifted to meet the luminescent yellow eyes of the creature that stood behind her - a creature whose face shifted back to that of a man who watched him warily.

"Please," Buffy repeated, the word a broken whisper as Aragorn stared into her tear-brimmed eyes. But his gaze was hard and cold, and with a soft sob Buffy realized that the kind-hearted healer she had known had been buried beneath the strong king that would protect his city against any threat - even those that he did not understand. Silently, she watched as he drew back the pommel of his sword, preparing to drive the sharpened tip through both her and the vampire that stood behind her.

"_Daro_, Aragorn! _Daro!_"

In that moment, Buffy felt the world skitter even further off balance as Aragorn stilled his hand and spun towards the third gate. Face draining of all color, Buffy followed the king's sharp gaze, watching as the crowd of soldiers parted to allow a tall, fair-haired elf to dart lightly towards them, the twin sons of Elrond following swiftly on his heels.

"Legolas?" she breathed as the elf brought his hand down upon Aragorn's arm and swept the king's blade aside, his beautiful blue eyes narrowed dangerously upon his mortal friend. But upon hearing her soft, tremulous whisper Legolas turned from him and smiled reassuringly at the pale slayer, his free hand reaching out to steady her as she gazed at him in open astonishment.

"Easy, _mellon-nin_," Legolas soothed, his eyes creasing as he looked upon her pale features. "You are not well," he murmured, one long finger gently lifting to brush against her sweat-soaked cheek.

"But... but they said you were dead," Buffy stammered as she gripped his forearms, her eyes desperately scouring his otherworldly features and the immaculate silver tunic that was spotless of the blood that had covered his weakened form several hours ago.

"He _should_ be dead," Elladan agreed as he looked quizzically between Aragorn's guarded stance and the peculiar-looking strangers that slowly gathered towards the small slayer.

"But I am _not_ dead. I am well," Legolas assured with a tired sigh, evidently having repeated those exact same words many times in the past few hours.

"Elladan, I told you to keep him in bed," Aragorn hissed as he reluctantly lowered his blade.

"We tried," Elrohir sighed as he shot the archer an annoyed glare, "but he is an even worse patient than you. He would not listen!"

"And it seems we should all be thankful that I did not," Legolas cut in, his voice curt as his full elven stare fell upon the ranger-turned-king. "_What were you doing?_"

"My Lord, they are demons!" one of the guards stammered as he waved towards Spike, who was glaring at a furious Gimli.

"They are her friends," Legolas countered as he waved for Gimli to lower his axe, Buffy's eyes tracing his every move. "I recognize most of them from her pho-to-graph."

"Hardly reassuring," Thoron groused - but by this point, Buffy was done listening to the quiet mutterings of the men and elves as, assured that Legolas wasn't going to disappear on her, she turned to look upon a face that she never thought she would see again.

"Angel?" she murmured, her voice a weak whisper as she lifted one shaking hand to press it against his cool cheek, ignoring the agony that coursed through her body. "Is it really you?" she asked as his large hand lifted to rest atop her own, his brown eyes looking at her with all of the love and passion that she remembered.

"Yes, it's-"

"Hey, don't forget about me," Spike cut in, the lean vampire pushing past Gimli's axe, silently daring the gruff dwarf to try anything before he elbowed Angel aside. "The poof wasn't the one to take the arrow for you, you know."

Laughing through her tears, Buffy gently lifted her other hand to Spike's cheek as Xander shoved through the silent guards to stand beside them. Sniffling back her tears, the slayer felt as though the rest of the world could cease to exist if only that moment could last forever. "But how can you be here?" she asked, ignoring the throbbing pulse that surged through her devastated body as she looked to each of the three in turn, desperately drinking in every cut to the smooth planes of their cheeks and the exact color of their eyes.

"Didn't Dawn promise you that she was going to send help?" Xander asked. "I mean, after what she saw, there was no way that any of us were going to sit there until we were sure you were going to be alright."

"Dawn?" Buffy murmured, her mind going blank as she looked at the three in confusion - confusion that slowly melted beneath the weight of dreams half-remembered. Vaguely she recalled the shadows and phantoms that tormented her in her small prison in Tol Brandir. She had been visited by friends and family, some coming to taunt her while others carried words of encouragement. When sanity had returned she hadn't thought again of those visits, thinking them to be nothing more than flights of madness. Apparently, one visit had been more than madness.

_"Buffy?"_

_Stifling a sob, the petite slayer turned her head to find Dawn standing uncertainly by the door to the chamber, her hands fluttering at her side, her long face pale, with tears pooling in her large brown eyes. "Not you," Buffy whispered. "Please not you too," she begged as she turned her head away._

_"Buffy! Oh God, Buffy, what's happened to you?" the phantom demanded as the bed seemed to shift beneath her weight, her warm hands turning Buffy's face towards her._

_"Dawnie, I can't do this anymore. I can't do this!" Buffy sobbed as her sister finally threw off her hesitation as the younger girl gathered Buffy in her imagined embrace, her phantom arms wrapping around the slayer and somehow seeming more real than anything else in this horrid nightmare._

_"Buffy, what's going on? Who's done this to you? What's happened to you?" the phantom repeated, her voice a strangled plea._

_"They want my blood to make them strong, and I can't stop them anymore. I try to catch my breath again but I hurt so much. Dawnie... I can't breathe," Buffy gasped as her strained lungs tried to find the oxygen that her traumatized body desperately needed. "I can't breathe."_

_"Yes, yes you can!" Dawn stated as her phantom hands released her to begin pulling ineffectively at the heavy chains. "I just... I just need to get you free!" she grunted as she strained against the unyielding metal, her movements becoming frantic. "I just need to get you free and then you can fight again," she whimpered as Buffy gently lifted a hand to touch this phantom's beautiful, tear-stained cheek._

_"I'll never fight again," the slayer whispered. "This is how it ends," she whispered as she slowly turned her head away._

_"No, Buffy, listen to me! I don't have much time. I just... I just wanted to... Listen to me!" Dawn ordered as she forced Buffy's chin towards her. "Just hang on and.. and we'll think of something."_

"I thought she was a dream," Buffy whispered.

"No, luv, she was real," Spike reassured as he glanced anxiously at the small slayer. "Red and the Bit worked day and night to get that spell ready, and when the Bit popped over here to check on you and saw..." he trailed off, his eyes narrowing dangerously on the men that were still scattered around them, obviously assuming that it was these people that had driven the slayer to these depths. "No way in hell the rest of us were going to let you go like that."

"But I don't-" Buffy began, her quiet whisper drowned beneath the last voice that she had ever thought to hear again. The one voice that she should _never_ have been able to hear again.

"_Damnit_ man, I already told you that I was just trying to help the child, not harm her!"

Hands falling to her side, Buffy slowly turned her head and dimly watched as the shadowed figure shifted beneath the tip of Faramir's sword, his clipped words ringing off of walls and streets of stone. "Giles?" she murmured, the name a silent, desperate plea to someone who had died months before.

Turning as the name was called out, the shadowed man impatiently brushed aside Faramir's blade and stepped into the flickering light of the mounted torches, revealing lined, craggy features that she knew better than her own, thin graying hair, and glasses that caught the flickering light and caused it to dance upon his eyes. Upon Giles' unmistakable green eyes.

Instantly Buffy felt the world crash around her as this last shock proved to be one too many to a body that was far too frail from the trials that it had endured. Shaking legs crumbling beneath her, Buffy felt Angel and Spike's arms wrap around her slender waist, gently easing her to the cold street as their worried faces swam before her hazy vision. She could feel the blood rushing through her veins now, the pain in her chest becoming unbearable as it radiated into her neck, jaw, arms and back. It was pain unlike anything she had ever felt before, as though a huge weight was pressing down upon her, and she felt her breath wheeze through parted lips as her watcher's face suddenly appeared above her.

A face that was more beautiful than any she had ever seen before.

* * *

Pushing his way through the crowd of armed onlookers, Giles made it to his slayer's side in moments. "Buffy?" he murmured as he knelt beside her, her name catching on his lips as his gaze raked over the young woman that had been his charge for so many years, feeling his heart tighten at what he saw. While always rather petite, the long, simple white dress that she wore did little to hide how thin she had become in the months that she had been gone, with nothing but a dark cloak of some kind that was bunched beneath her crumpled form to shield her from the cold. Her arms looked thin, her skin a sickly pale color that contrasted sharply with the golden tan he had always remembered, and her hair was longer, and not nearly as light as before - as though her usual sun-bleached locks had been deprived of the sunshine she had always loved. Yet what captured his attention more than anything else were her familiar green eyes, clouded with pain, twin trails of tears dripping unashamedly down her cheeks.

"Giles?" she panted as he quickly twined his hand with her own, his eyes skipping worriedly over a blood-stained bandage that wrapped her slender wrist. "But... but you're dead," she moaned as he pressed his other hand against her clammy cheek, cursing quietly at how chilled her skin felt. "Is this a trick? Are you the First or... or am I... am I still crazy?"

"No, no you are not crazy," Giles assured, his eyes creasing in concern as he noted the sweat that created a soft sheen on her brow. "And you defeated the First when you allowed Willow to do that blasted spell," he added, frowning at the pained rasp of every breath she drew.

"But the First-"

"Left me for dead," Giles hastily explained as he pressed his fingers against the inside of her unblemished wrist, his gaze locked on his wristwatch. "The others found me in time," he murmured as he silently gauged her thready pulse, his features becoming even more grim with what he learned.

"But how-"

"Later," the watcher insisted, gently hushing his pained slayer as he released her wrist and pressed his hand against her cool skin.

"Giles, what's wrong with her?" Xander whispered from beside him, his features creasing as Buffy whimpered in pain, her lips beginning to turn a sickly, bluish color.

Sighing softly, Giles paused in his examination long enough to admit that which he had feared all along. "I believe that she is having a heart attack," he murmured as he tenderly brushed a sweaty strand of hair from his slayer's forehead.

"A what?"

Startled by the unfamiliar voice and the lyrical qualities of the soft tenor, the watcher lifted his eyes to find a young man crouched opposite him - a young man whose features seemed chiseled from alabaster, with long, golden blond hair that trailed over slender shoulders and which framed blue eyes of impossible depths. And... was he glowing?

Frowning, Giles quickly turned away from the stranger. "After Dawn's description, I knew that something like this could happen," he murmured as he returned his attentions to his slayer. "If someone was truly taking her blood over an extended period of time, as Dawn has insisted, then Buffy's body may have been able to replenish the lost fluid, but even a slayer needs more time to restore the red blood cells which have been lost. When there is not enough, the body becomes anemic, and severe anemia puts untold amounts of stress on the body's organs. Most notably, the heart."

"So what does that mean?" Xander persisted.

"That we need to get her to a hospital as quickly as possible," the watcher muttered as he began searching through the large duffel that he had dropped on the stone road beside him.

The blond being lifted his worried gaze from Buffy's pale, sweat-drenched features, a look of confusion on his face. "She has mentioned such a place before, but I know not of which you speak."

"It means that she needs a bleeding doctor!" Spike barked, causing the blond to beckon for three others to join their small huddle - three others that were comprised of a tall, stern-looking man dressed in rich robes, and a pair of twins that shared the blond's delicate features.

Distracted for the briefest of moments, Giles looked from the blond to his two dark-haired companions in wonder, somehow understanding that they were not the young men he had initially assumed them to be. He supposed that the finely tapered ears that peeked through their thick locks, in addition to the soft luminescence of their pale skin, attested to that fact.

"What?" Spike growled, breaking the watcher's intense scrutiny as the bleached-vampire shrugged off Xander's restraining grip, his blue eyes narrowed upon the new arrivals. "You'd have me believe that the git with the big sword and faerie boy one and two are doctors?"

The blond creature scowled at Spike, evidently irritated with the vampire's sharp tongue. "They are the most skilled Healers in all of Middle-earth."

"And that's supposed to be reassuring?" Spike bit back as Giles sighed heavily, pausing in his search long enough to glare at the vampire.

"Spike, would you please desist in your ranting?" he hissed before briefly turning to the newcomers. "It is her heart," he explained as one of the dark-haired twins lifted a slender hand and placed it on Buffy's chest, his face creased in concentration as though he could somehow feel the weakened organ as it hammered its distress. "We need to take her someplace quiet and warm - someplace away from all of this," Giles continued, ignoring both Spike, and now Angel as well, as both vampires protested loudly to the twin's actions.

"Aragorn, she needs to go back to the Houses of Healing," Giles heard the blond murmur as the watcher finally found the small bottle of aspirin that he had been searching for, his fingers fumbling with the child-proof cap.

"Allow this to dissolve upon your tongue," he murmured distractedly as he forced one of the chalky tablets past Buffy's clenched lips, her eyes briefly meeting with his own before they slipped shut, the skin pinched around the fine edges. Gently he ran his fingers over her slick brow as he turned his eyes back to the blond creature and the tall, dark-haired man that the blond had addressed - the one that seemed to be in charge of the soldiers that lingered warily about the wide street.

"Faramir, where is Vashnak?" the tall man, or Aragorn, as it seemed, asked as he turned from his fair-faced companion to Finduilas' father, the small child clinging to the other man's side.

"He escaped over the wall in the chaos," the father returned as he held his daughter against him. "I have already sent some of the men into the first circle, but I fear that he has used the attack on Osgiliath to his advantage."

"As I'm sure was his intention all along," Aragorn agreed as his eyes darted towards Buffy, causing Giles' hand to fall protectively upon her shoulder. While the watcher wasn't certain what exactly his slayer had gotten herself into this time, from the look in the man's gray eyes, it was evident that it was serious. Very serious.

"And what _of_ Osgiliath?" the father persisted.

"Dispatch riders and see that they get as many citizens behind the safety of our walls as they can," Aragorn ordered, his glower deepening as his eyes lifted to the imposing second wall that stood tall behind Giles and his downed slayer, "but ensure that they do not engage the enemy. Also see that the watch towers are lit to notify Rohan of our situation - and dispatch messengers with all haste to Dol Amroth and north to the Dnedain," he added before Buffy's pained moan once more captured his attention.

"Aragorn-" the blond creature began, his fair features pinched in worry.

"Bring her to the Houses of Healing," the man interrupted with a resigned sigh.

"The Houses of Healing?" Giles queried as the blond creature immediately gathered Buffy's limp frame into his slender arms, as though she weighed nothing at all. "Where-" he began, his question faltering as the creature nodded reassuringly at him and the others.

"Follow me - it is not far," the blond stated before turning and hurrying down the wide stone avenue, the guards parting in a black wave before his graceful, luminescent form.

A luminescent form that was quickly disappearing with the slayer that they had traveled all this way to rescue.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Angel called out, apparently realizing this same fact as all four began to move.

Scowling, Giles allowed Xander to pull him to his feet, the younger man stooping to sling the black duffel over his shoulder. Giles had been with his slayer for barely five minutes and already he was allowing her to slip through his fingers. Again.

"Who does the glowing nancy boy think he is, anyway?" Spike groused as he fell into step beside the aged watcher.

"Competition?" Xander offered with a cheeky grin as both vampires glared at the carpenter.

"Xander, now is not the time for your baiting," Giles sighed as his fast walk turned into an easy jog, the hard clap of his shoes echoing off of the all encompassing-stone as his curious eyes darted to the towering structures that seemed to come straight from the tale of some ancient, medieval kingdom.

"Competition?" Spike echoed incredulously, evidently choosing to ignore Giles' terse warning. "That poncy twit? He's prettier than she is! She couldn't possibly be interested in that... that _faerie_....... could she?" he asked, his brave words faltering beneath this final question.

"Spike, that will be quite enough," the watcher warned as Angel snorted from beside him, finally breaking his broody silence.

"The Buffy I knew wouldn't be," the older vampire agreed. "Then again, the Buffy I knew also hated you," he added as he glared at his grand-childe.

"Oh dear Lord," Giles grumbled as he tried to quicken their pace.

"Yeah, but that was before I got meself a soul," Spike corrected with a smug smile as Giles tried in vain to outdistance the squabbling vampires.

"So now everyone's got a soul," Angel muttered. "Welcome to the club."

"Hey, I had to _earn_ me soul. I didn't have it handed to me by a bunch of-"

"Now do you see what you have started?" Giles hissed as he glared at the young man that loped lazily beside him, a contented smile lifting his broad lips.

"Hey - gotta get your kicks where you can," Xander defended with a bright smile. "And Spike and Angel? Even better than watching Willow and Anya get into it... and did I really just say that? Because when I said 'get into it,' I really didn't mean _get into it._ What I meant was-"

"Enough, Xander. Dear Lord let that be enough."


	27. Chapter 27

**Equinoxium: Chapter 27  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

The return to the Houses of Healing was a blur in Legolas' mind, the long-legged elf only vaguely aware of towering walls and buildings of stone, the startled eyes of those who had been awakened by the tolling bells, and the hurried pattering of heavy feet as Buffy's friends followed his fleet form. He traveled swiftly over roads that had been worn smooth from over three thousand years of foot traffic - probably too swiftly for the two mortals that moved beside the creatures whose very essence seemed to sound a note of discord with Ilvatar's song. Yet the thought of slowing his steps never once crossed the elf's mind as he clutched his precious burden tighter against his chest.

There was no wound to be seen on Buffy's body - no blood to stain her white dressing gown or visible hurt to catch the eye - and yet he could almost feel the pain that caused her breath to catch in her throat. Her skin was pale and waxy, the pinched skin around her closed eyes bruised a dark color, and her body trembled in his arms as though it was unable to contain whatever agony coursed through her slender frame.

"_Dartho ah nin, mellon-nin_," Legolas breathed as he hurried through the open doors to the Houses of Healing, only to pause uncertainly in the grand foyer. The building was awash in the flickering light of torches and candles, healers and servants bustling through doorways and down twisting halls, their hushed voices creating a soft din that was reminiscent of darker times - times where this gentle house never slept. Word of the attack on Osgiliath had obviously reached Ioreth, and the Head Healer had responded accordingly as Healers were awakened and as servants were sent to prepare for the impending flood of the injured. War had come again to Minas Tirith and the illusions of peace and harmony that had survived for nine years had been shattered with those clear tolls.

"Legolas, to me!" Elladan instructed as he and his brother swept through the doors behind the fair-haired elf, the twins sidestepping the scurrying men and women and moving swiftly down the corridor that led to Buffy's chambers.

Nodding, Legolas paused long enough to instruct one young maid to direct Buffy's friends and all of those who would follow, before quickly hurrying down the torch-lit hall. It had only been a scant few hours since Legolas himself had awoken from an agony-induced unconsciousness to find his friends huddled over his taut frame in these same houses. Even then the pain had been so fresh and vivid that his aching muscles remained locked and rigid, his breath wheezing through lips that were drawn tight across clenched teeth.

He had been dealt a mortal wound by the dark-elf, and everything that was natural in this world stated that his fa should have long departed from these shores and all that he held dear in order to find its proper place beside his mother and brother in the Halls of Mandos. And yet he hadn't.

Hours of agony had claimed his mind and body as the sun crested in the sky and began her slow descent, bathing the world with her fickle light before disappearing behind the gleaming white mountains. Their world had been cast into darkness, and according to all that was right, he should have joined the sun in her westward journey. And yet he hadn't.

And the reason why he still lived was the young woman that he now placed upon her bed, his smooth hand brushing away a sweat-soaked strand of hair as others began to fill the room. Ioreth herself led the sudden influx of healers, the young and old alike flitting around the bed as servants were summoned and then sent away to retrieve herbs and medicines from the deep stores. Then came the four strangers, the men clutching their sides as they struggled for breath while the other two moved with a grace that was usually only seen in the firstborn. And yet these two were apart from everything in Legolas' world - something strange and alien. Something unnatural.

Frowning, the elf watched as the two vampires, as Buffy had called them, threw verbal barbs at one another, their words vicious and cruel. Their bodies were those of mortal men, and yet from all that Legolas had been able to glean from Buffy's tales, they possessed a strength that was awesome in its power, and they fought with a skill that would be terrifying to witness. Yet most frightening of all was the fact that they didn't appear to be living. Legolas could hear no heartbeat, could see no rise and fall of a chest that drew breath, nor could he sense the life that thrummed in all living things, from creatures of intelligence to beasts and growing things. These vampires were something wholly different, something dead and yet still living, and if it wasn't for the evident love that shone in their ice-blue and narrowed brown eyes as they looked upon the fallen slayer, Legolas would never have stopped Aragorn from destroying them.

Legolas leaned unobtrusively against a far wall as the aforementioned king joined the twins in their healing efforts, the two vampires pausing in their bickering with their young, dark-haired companion long enough to glare at the ranger-turned-king. If it weren't for Buffy, Legolas knew that he would have died long ago from his wounds. Her blood was an aberration in this world, and every bit as unnatural as the two vampires that obviously cared for her deeply. Yet her blood had saved him. As he had lain dying upon the blood-soaked ground, Buffy had opened her wrist and forced him to drink of the thick, coppery fluid. She had forced her blood upon him and forcibly led him down a different path than what the natural order had demanded. And in doing so, she had saved him. Did that now make him as unnatural as her and her two companions?

Frowning at this thought, Legolas slowly took measure of his senses, straining for something he couldn't define - some oddness that hadn't been there before. Her blood was responsible for changing orc into dark-elf, healing them of hurts that had been dealt several millennia before and passed through their breeding. And in turn it had healed the grisly wounds that had been dealt to him and had erased the many stinging cuts and small bruises from his fight with Vashnak and his two companions. Not a trace remained of the injuries that were meant to steal the life from his limbs, and if anything, Legolas found that he felt rejuvenated. Even the lingering ache from the pulsing agony of before was gone, leaving him feeling lighter than ever, as though he could float away with the merest brush of a gentle wind. He felt... free.

"Legolas?"

Turning slightly at the low rumble, the elf glanced upon Gimli's stout frame as his mind frantically struggled with this revelation. It wasn't just that he felt free, it was that he felt whole. He felt whole in mind and body and... and spirit.

"Legolas? Elf? What ails you?" the dwarf demanded, his queries becoming more harried with each utterance, obviously fearing some sort of relapse. Not that anyone could blame the dwarf, for just a few short hours past he had been dangerously close to losing his friend forever.

"I am healed," Legolas murmured distractedly, gently hushing the dwarf before his booming voice could bring a swarm of healers upon them.

"Well of course you are healed," Gimli returned with an irritated shake of his head, his small eyes scrutinizing Legolas' face as if searching for some sign that his confident words were untrue.

"No Gimli, I am healed," Legolas repeated, a slow, wondrous smile lifting his lips as he looked once more to the young woman that was surrounded by the most skilled healers in all of Middle-earth.

"A fact that we have already agreed upon," the dwarf grumbled with a show of impatience. "Her blood has seen fit to heal your wounds and-"

"Not just my wounds," Legolas returned with an enigmatic smile.

"Not just your... but what else would there be to heal?" Gimli huffed, clearly growing exasperated with his friend. "You are an elf and your kind suffer from no illness or-" he cut off as his dark eyes grew wide with understanding. "The sea-longing," he breathed, his gaze following his friend's to the small blonde that lay motionless upon the white bed.

"Everything has happened so quickly that I only noticed it now," Legolas whispered as he gazed in wonder upon the small creature that had lifted the stain of longing from his soul. Always the sea beckoned to him from the furthest corner of his mind, whispering promises of peace and tantalizing his senses with hints of salt and the whisper of the waves. The longing had fallen upon him nine years ago when he had first heard the cry of the gulls, and slowly, day by day and week by week and all the long years past the yearning battered against him like the waves upon the shore, seeking to push him from this world and to the comfort that only Valinor could provide. It was a comfort that he denied himself as he stubbornly refused to leave these shores until all his friends had relinquished their hold on their mortal lives, and as punishment, his spirit remained torn between this world and the next. Always the longing had been with him, and not once had the elf known true peace since that fateful day. Until now.

"She has healed me, elvellon, body and soul."

* * *

A wise man once said that you cannot know true joy until you know true pain. Someone else said that pain makes us stronger. To Buffy, a person who was experienced in the art of giving and receiving pain, it was obvious that in order to say such fundamentally stupid things, neither of these men had ever known a moment of true pain in their entire lives. She, however, had it in spades.

Groaning as consciousness returned in the form of a deep ache that encased her entire body, Buffy felt a bone-wearying wave of lingering agony that was so intense that she could almost taste it in all of its acidic glory. It was sharp and bitter, like when she touched her tongue against the end of a battery, and it filled her mouth with its cloying bite as it thrummed in time with her aching heart. "Oh, ouch," she moaned, her body shifting uselessly on the soft mattress as she made a mental note to avoid the next heart attack if at all possible. It was all fun and games until your heart decided to go all trippy on you.

"Buffy? Buffy, can you hear me?"

Sarcastic retort frozen on the tip of her tongue, Buffy's breath caught in her throat as her eyes slipped open, rapidly blinking to clear away the stinging tears that the harsh candlelight brought to her watery gaze. She knew that voice - had longed to hear it for so long - and even though it was too much to believe in, too much to possibly hope for, she still found herself turning towards it, desperately seeking her watcher's warm gaze. "Giles?" she whispered, her voice dry and scratchy as his large hands gently lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing a soft, tender kiss against the tingling flesh. And in that moment, Buffy knew that there was no way that she could deny that this time, this was real. There was no way that she could deny that somehow, impossible though it seemed, her Watcher was really sitting beside her.

Living.

Breathing.

And very much not of the dead.

"I wasn't dreaming," Buffy whispered, feeling the tears burn her eyes before falling free to trail down cheeks that tingled with remembered pain. God, even her hair hurt.

"No, no you weren't dreaming," Giles assured with a soft smile as he gently lowered her hand so that it was lying atop that blanket that covered her small form.

"But... how?"

"How am I here, or how am I alive?" he queried, causing Buffy to smile in return, her eyes tearing all over again as her numbed mind began to buzz with everything that she so desperately wanted to know. Everything that she so desperately wanted to understand.

"Both," she murmured, somehow able to sum everything into that one simple word.

"Ah yes," Giles murmured, shifting in the chair that was pushed against her bed. "Well, the latter is a far shorter story," he stated as he reached for his glasses, plucking them from his nose and absently polishing them upon the hem of the dark sweater that he wore - the act causing a few more tears to fall as Buffy started at the familiar habit. "You do remember that business with Eyghon, I trust?" the watcher continued, his eyes firmly trained upon the smooth glass that he worked between the soft fabric.

"How could I forget?" she returned with a wry smile. It had been years since they had last spoken of the mistakes of Giles' wayward youth, and yet the memory of Ethan Rayne tattooing the back of her neck with a cult symbol that acted as a demonic homing beacon was certainly something that she would never forget. She had been in Sunnydale for only two years when it happened, back before Jenny Calendar had been killed and before Angelus had been set free, and if it hadn't been for the others, she would have died that day. Just as she would have many a time after that. Just as it would have been this day.

"Yes, well as far as we have been able to figure," Giles continued, "when we summoned Eyghon and allowed it to take possession of our bodies, it appears as though we were brought far closer to death than any of us ever truly appreciated. Far, far closer," he admitted with a small, pained sigh.

"Apparently," Buffy agreed as Giles continued to work at his glasses, his eyes steadfastly refusing to meet her own. In order for the First Evil to have been able to take her watcher's image, that meant that he had been touched by Death in a way that most people tried to avoid. He had to have died and been brought back. Buffy herself had died twice before, and the First Evil had flaunted her image before her and her friends. It had even taken on Spike's own image when It had incessantly pushed him towards the breaking point of his sanity. "But why did the First wait to take your form?" Buffy whispered, a puzzled frown pulling at her features.

"Why did the First never take Angel's form? Why did It never use Spike's image against you?" Giles countered with a small, weary shrug, finally stilling his frantic polishing as he held the frames in his idle hands. "The First is gone, Buffy, and all we can do is try to venture at Its reasoning. Personally, I think that It wanted to wait until It could do the most damage."

Eyes slipping shut, Buffy couldn't help but agree with this guess. The First had certainly used Giles' image in the most damaging way imaginable when It had appeared before her in the guise of her watcher in the most pivotal of moments. How different would her time have been in Middle-earth if she had known that Giles was alive and well? How much quicker would her adjustment have been if she had only known that he yet lived? That he was still there to protect and guide her friends in her absence? Frowning at this thought, Buffy turned to her watcher. "And what of the others? What happened?"

"Ah yes... now that is a long story," Giles sighed as he leaned back in the narrow chair, his brow creased and his glasses dangling in one limp hand. "After the spell was complete, Faith and Spike led the others after the remaining Turok-han, which led them back to the Seal where they stumbled upon me."

Breath catching in her throat, Buffy watched as the older man absently rested his hand over his stomach, as though touching a memory through the thin sweater that only he could see. "So the First was telling the truth," she murmured. They... they-"

"The Bringers used my blood to open the seal," Giles finished for her with a wan smile, "but apparently It had more important things to do than to see the job to its completion."

"Like taunting me," she sighed with a grimace.

"So it seems," the watcher agreed as he leaned forward, his free hand wrapping around her own. "The others brought me to the hospital where I was forced to stay for... a time," he murmured, Buffy's eyes following his gaze to where her slender, pale fingers were twined in his calloused grip. "Meanwhile," he continued, "the others saw that the girls were returned to their families, and Spike and Faith went to Los Angeles to help find Angelus and kill the Beast."

"Nuh what?" Buffy cut in, her gaze snapping towards her watcher's tired features as a thrill of alarm coursed through her veins.

Frowning, Giles absently patted her hand. "The abbreviated version is that while we were dealing with the First, Angel and his companions were handling an apocalypse of their own in Los Angeles. By the culmination of our dealings with the First, their group had removed Angel's soul in hopes that Angelus would be able to tell them how to kill the creature they fought."

"You've got to be kidding me," Buffy stated, her frown deepening. "They willingly removed Angel's soul? And how? Did he get with the happy or what?" she demanded as she struggled to sit up in the narrow bed, as though doing so could somehow lessen the impact of Giles' words.

"They used magic," he explained as he helped to ease her back until she was supported by a mound of pillows behind her. "And somehow, despite their precautions, Angelus escaped," he added with a curt shake of his head, as though expressing his own disbelief at such a foolhardy move. "Yet with Spike and Faith's help, they were able to trap him, kill the creature, and Willow restored Angel's soul before more damage could be wrought."

"So they saved the day," Buffy hazarded - only to frown at Giles' hesitation.

"Not quite," he admitted. "The others returned and we..." he paused, his voice breaking as the watcher resolutely focused his attention on the hand that he cradled in his own. "We tried to find some way to continue on the Hellmouth without you," he stated, forcing the words in one rushed breath as he avoided meeting Buffy's searching gaze. "But unbeknownst to the rest of us," he continued, "Willow and Dawn had been conspiring from the day you left to find some way to ensure that you were alright."

"Willow and Dawn?" Buffy murmured distractedly, unable to think past the pain that had flashed in her watcher's shadowed eyes. She had been gone from her world for so long now, and it disgusted her to realize that in all that time she had been so focused on her own pain that she never once stopped to think about how much her friends would be hurting without her.

"Yes, well Dawn apparently refused to move on without knowing that you were doing well wherever you had gone," Giles hastily explained. "Willow found a spell somewhere, and they only finished preparations and managed to gather the necessary supplies a few weeks past. What your sister saw, however, scared her so badly that they came to the rest of us and revealed what they had done."

Wincing at her watcher's words, Buffy slowly looked away. Yes, she imagined that seeing herself so weakened, delirious, and a touch mad would be enough to scare any of her friends. As the slayer, she had always prided herself on being strong and keeping her weaknesses hidden, but Dawn had seen her at her worst, when she had been beaten down and defeated by circumstances beyond her control.

Buffy quickly shook her head. Who was she kidding? This whole adventure had been a lesson in humility for her. A lesson which clearly demonstrated how impervious she _wasn't_. Buffy may have been the slayer, but she was still human, and if someone pushed hard enough, she _would_ break. There was only so much a girl could take - any girl - and Buffy had come to live this fact.

"I was, of course, quite furious with Willow for once more dabbling in things that she shouldn't," Giles admitted, breaking into Buffy's thoughts with his hesitant words. "The spell was dangerous and bordered on the darkness that she had been avoiding."

"Is she alright?" Buffy whispered, trying to focus on her watcher's words.

"Willow? Yes, she's fine," the watcher sighed with a vague wave of his free hand. "Everyone wanted to send someone back to you straight away, but the spell had taken months to prepare and it was only able to succeed because of the unique bond that you share with Dawn. Not to mention that it was severely draining for Willow - so draining, in fact, that all of her 'borrowed' magics have been spent - perhaps for good."

"But if Willow didn't send you guys..." Buffy trailed off, her confusion mounting. She had just assumed that Willow and her seemingly limitless reserves of magic were responsible for her friends' sudden arrival. She still hadn't quite worked out exactly how, but she had been sure that her wiccan friend had something to do with it.

"I'm getting to that," Giles admonished with a small smile as he gently patted her hand. "Before we could decide what was to be done, Fred, one of Angel's associates, telephoned from Los Angeles to seek our assistance. Apparently a mind-controlling deity had taken up residence in their headquarters and was busy ensnaring the world in her false image. Angel and the others were under the spell and we had no choice but to go to Los Angeles to see what we could do to help."

"Mind-controlling deity?" Buffy parroted, vaguely trying to keep up with the events that only could have befallen her friends. "Any relation to a certain Hell Goddess we knew?"

"No, thankfully," the watcher sighed. "Though in the end our assistance was hardly needed as after a few days Angel was able to break her control on the general populous and destroy her before she could do further damage." At this point, Giles paused for a lengthy moment as he seemed to debate about how best to phrase his next bit of news. "And in, ahem, return for ending world peace, it... ah... it seems that Wolfram and Hart offered Angel and his friends the firm's LA branch."

"Wait," Buffy interrupted, her sense of unease growing by leaps and bounds. "Wolfram and Hart as in the evil law firm that Angel's been fighting for the last four years?"

Giles managed to look both as grim and as displeased as possible as he reluctantly nodded his head. "Yes, and foolishly, they accepted the proposition. Although," he added, hurriedly continuing before Buffy could offer further protest, "as a part of the bargain, they managed to provide him the means to transport us to you."

Rolling her eyes at her watcher's words, Buffy glared at the older man. "So let me get this straight. An evil law firm gives you some doohickey and promises that it will bring you to me... and you actually _believe_ them?!"

"Willow and Wesley assured us that the vial seemed to be everything that we had been promised," Giles defended, an indignant scowl creasing his features. "They gave us two of these," he explained as he pulled from a pocket a small glass vial filled with an amber liquid. "By mixing the contents of the first with Dawn's blood it was able to draw upon her connection with you to bring us here. To get home again, we merely mix this vial with your blood-"

"My blood?" Buffy cut in, her features darkening.

Smiling apologetically, Giles slowly looked away. "Though I'm loathe to admit this, Spike was right. Buffy, it is always about the blood. Always. Just as you were able to use your blood as a substitute for Dawn's to close Glory's portal, so will we be able to substitute your blood for Dawn's to bring us home. You two are more than sisters, as you said yourself, for the monks made her out of you. Your blood is one and the same."

"And it's what it'll take to get you home, yeah, I got it," Buffy sighed as she determinately forced her eyes from the glass vial, and in doing so, tried to focus on everything that her watcher had left unsaid. "So I understand that I'm only getting the cliff notes," she continued, "but where did the mind-controlling deity come from?"

"Oh yes, that," Giles agreed with a quick nod. "Cordelia gave birth to her."

"Cordy gave... what?" Buffy demanded, wishing that she hadn't bothered to ask.

"Apparently Cordelia was... well, evil."

"_Cordelia_ was evil?" the slayer returned, trying and failing to somehow imagine the bitchy Queen C as anything other than the airhead that had given of her friendship for a few short years in high school before circumstances had torn them all apart.

"Well, it wasn't _really_ Cordelia," Giles amended with a small frown. "Angel insists that her body was taken over by a higher power."

Buffy lifted a weakened hand and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying in vain to stave off the approach of a building headache that seemed intent on adding to the lingering ache of her body. "Is there anyone in our group that _hasn't_ been evil at some point or another?" she demanded as Giles gently pried her hand from her face and once more held it in his own, his gaze turning serious.

"You haven't," he argued, causing his slayer to snort softly at this small platitude. Frowning, he gently squeezed her hand. "Buffy, depression and confusion after having been ripped from Heaven hardly count as evil. Nor do your actions while suffering from hallucinations, and especially not the inevitable casualties when you're fighting a war."

"Maybe," Buffy admitted as she turned from his prying eyes, "and maybe not. Regardless, I think everything that I've done these past few months more than count."

"You mean what your blood has done," Giles corrected with a frown, obviously having finally reached the matter that he had been striving towards all this time. Looking towards her watcher, Buffy thought that he must be able to sense the darkness that she felt weighing upon her shoulders and tearing at her soul. And maybe he could. This man was more than her watcher. He was as a father to her in a way that Hank Summers had never managed to be. This man wasn't about buying her shoes or clothes to appease her. This man didn't believe in buying her love or respect. This man had _earned_ her respect, and she his, and it was because of him that she had been able to rise from being beaten so low time and time again for so many years; he and all of the friends that she had been desperately needing and secretly craving in her darkest hours in Middle-earth. The friends that had somehow been gifted to her when she needed them most. "And yes," Giles continued, "I have seen what your blood has done - though I would hardly attribute it to any evil deeds on your part."

"Giles," Buffy sighed, her hand trembling ever so slightly in his weathered grip as she finally forced herself to admit her failings to the man that she had always strived to please. "Giles, I'm responsible for making an evil race even more deadly."

"Then it would seem to me that this world should be thankful that they have been blessed with the strength, speed, and skill of the most powerful slayer that has ever graced our world in order to make that right," he countered with the calm surety that she had so missed. "A slayer that, I must add," he continued with a small smile, "has had a most wonderful teacher."

Laughing softly at his words, Buffy gently tugged on his hand, guiding him forward as she leaned into an embrace that she had been craving for much longer than the time that she had been banished to Middle-earth. This was a hug that she had been missing for too long - one that she had denied herself in a fit of anger that seemed so irrelevant now. "I've missed you, Giles. More than words can say," she murmured as she reveled in his familiar warmth.

"And I you," Giles returned as he gently squeezed her to his chest. "And yet," he continued as he slowly, regretfully pulled away. "And yet we both know that this is merely a temporary reprieve. This is your world now, and I fear that our continued presence would make things only worse for... what did the man call it?" he questioned, pausing as his brow crinkled in thought. "Ah yes, Middle-earth," he stated, answering his own question with a curious shake of his head.

Buffy slowly nodded to that which she had known from the moment that Spike had unwittingly taken the arrow that was meant for her. After all, if the revival of one Champion had been enough to allow the First Evil to strike against the Slayer line, she shuddered to think of the damage that could be wrought in this world by the sudden addition of two Champions, a Watcher, and a Carpenter. "I know," she admitted, her expression falling. "But it's so hard being alone."

"You are not alone," Giles countered, his sharp tone softening as she looked to him in confusion. "No matter where you are, I will always be there - as will the others," he added with a wry grimace.

Seeing this, Buffy curiously turned to the darkened room for the first time. Gone was her small prison cell and instead the slayer found herself back in her original room in the Houses of Healing. A room that was lit only by a few scattered candles and a small flame that burned low in the room's fireplace - and a room which was devoid of all save she and her watcher. "Speaking of the others," she began with a small, worried frown, "where are Xander, Angel and Spike? And how in the heck did _this_ combination ever come about?"

"Believe it or not, we were the most obvious choices to send," Giles wryly returned. "You must remember that Dawn said you were being held in a chamber made of stone, weakened and bound by heavy chains. We were told that the vials could only transport four, and we had to send the most logical choices."

"And that included the combination of Xander, Spike, and Angel?" Buffy incredulously returned.

"Only by default," her watcher sighed. "Willow is still very weak from the spell that brought Dawn to you, and Dawn was needed to power this magic. We also couldn't very well leave our world without a champion, and so Faith, rather reluctantly, agreed to stay behind with the others."

"But.. what about Connor?"

"Who?" Giles returned, his brow crinkled in confusion.

Frowning at her watcher's evident bewilderment, Buffy felt her own expression shift to match his puzzlement. "Connor," she repeated, her frown deepening when Giles continued to blankly meet her stare. "You know, Angel's super-human son from his tryst with Darla, his reborn-again-sire?" she prompted. Yet when Giles merely shook his head, his gaze now narrowed in concern, Buffy waved a shaky hand. "Never mind," she sighed as she turned back to the empty room. "So I ask again: where are the others?"

"The others are outside," Giles responded, evidently deciding to let the matter drop. "Despite the blond creature's-" he continued, only to pause as his brow crinkled in confusion. "What is he, anyway?"

Smiling, Buffy remembered her own reaction to seeing an elf for the first time. She had thought that they were angels come to welcome her back to heaven. Snorting at the thought, the slayer shook her head. While two of the three could still pass as angelic in her mind, the third fell quite a bit short of that initial perception. Yeah, Thoron was about as angelic in personality and demeanor as a brick wall. "Legolas is an elf," Buffy supplied with a crooked smile.

For a moment Giles merely stared at her before nodding his head. "Right then," he murmured as he released her hand and returned to polishing his already immaculate glasses. "Well, despite his intervention on our behalf, the others are not quite so trusting of these people. Thus, Angel has not left the side of the twin Healers, as they seem to call them, while Spike, meanwhile, refused to relinquish his sword and has been standing guard outside your door for the past few hours. And Xander," he continued with a wry smile, "was in the company of a rather short fellow with an unsightly red beard, the last I saw."

Grinning now, Buffy delighted in the academic curiosity that had always been a defining feature of her watcher's personality. She could tell that he was just bursting with questions, and while she had always been willing to take things at their face value, Giles had always been more interested in the who, what, where, when, why and how of everything. "That would be Gimli, and he's a Dwarf," she supplied.

"I see," her watcher returned before pausing once more, his eyes hesitantly meeting her own. "And the other fellow... is he really the king of all men on this world?"

"And that would be Aragorn, the man of many names," Buffy laughed as she shrugged innocently. "To be honest, I'm not really sure about the whole political scene on this world. Heck, the closest thing I got to politics back home was when I blew up the mayor," she added with a bright smile - a smile that felt as though it had been missing for far too long. She had been so off-balance after arriving in this world, trying to deal with a place that was so backwards and people so foreign, even as she wrestled with the loss of everything and everyone that she knew and loved. It had taken her awhile, but she had finally gained some semblance of equilibrium - some balance - only to have it shattered with Vashnak's arrival and her hellish stay in Tol Brandir. That had been months ago, and in that time, she had slowly wilted until she thought that she would never have occasion to smile again.

Sobering at that thought, Buffy forcefully shook the troubling memories away and refocused on her watcher's concerned features. "Yeah, Aragorn is the Big Deal around here," she offered as though the pregnant pause had never interrupted their carefree banter.

Nodding gently, Giles offered a tentative smile. "Impressive company that you've been keeping," he noted, his soft words offering her a passage back into safer territory. A passage that she eagerly seized.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, the little girl that you were trying to help was a princess and daughter to the king's steward," she offered with a small, thankful smile.

"Of course she was," Giles agreed, his eyes twinkling. "After all, it seems as though everyone is royalty of some sort in this world."

Pausing, Buffy pretended to consider this statement before slowly nodding her agreement. "I think you're right. It's been nothing but lord-this and lady-that since I got here," she confided, moments before the door to her room was pushed open to admit Elladan and Elrohir, Angel following closely on their heels.

"I've never heard of this _athelas_," the vampire stated as he stepped into the room, the broody creature glaring suspiciously at the green leaves that were held in Elladan's pale hands.

"Not many have," Elrohir sighed as Buffy tried to hide a smile, the slayer quietly watching from her bed as he retrieved a kettle from the table that was pushed against an adjacent wall.

"It is usually thought of as a weed," Elladan added as he dropped the gathered leaves into the water before hanging it over the fireplace where a small flame burned low.

Angel seemed stunned by this response for just a moment before he quickly stalked towards the twins, a low growl emanating from deep in his throat. "You're giving Buffy _weed_?" he demanded, his voice a dangerous hiss.

"It's okay Angel, they're friends," Buffy cut in, her voice causing all three males to turn towards her in evident surprise. "At least... I think they are," she amended, remembering too late that this was the first time that she had really seen the twin elves since her rescue from Tol Brandir.

"Buffy, you're-" the vampire began, only to have his words drowned beneath the cheery greeting of the person that moved into the open door behind him.

"The Buffster's awake!" Xander sang as her dark-haired friend stepped into the room, a brilliant smile lighting up his handsome features. "How ya feeling?" the Scooby asked as he crossed the floor in a few long strides and settled onto the bed beside her, one arm dropping casually, almost protectively across her shoulders.

"Like I just had a heart attack," Buffy returned, her soft smile easing the bite of her words as she leaned into her friend's familiar warmth. God how she had missed this! It had been months since she had last been with her friends, and she was amazed at how easy it was to slip back into her role as though no distance had ever separated them. Xander was still Xander, and incredibly enough, it seemed that in his eyes she was the same Buffy that he had helped to save the world time and time again. He was still the goofy guy with the funny syphilis who had matured over the past seven years into the man he was today - and she was his hero. She may have never been in love with Xander the way that she had been in love with Angel, or even in the way that she had maybe been in love with Spike, but she had always _loved_ the man that had been the heart of the group.

"Are you still in pain?"

Startled from her thoughts, Buffy turned to see that both Legolas and Aragorn had followed Xander into the room, quickly bringing the number of guests to seven - no, eight, she realized as Spike apparently decided to abandon his post before her door, the better to glare at the three elves that illuminated the room even further with their soft luminescence. "I've been better," she stated, answering Aragorn's question as she met his gray eyes. "Then again, I've been worse. Much, much worse," she added with a small, rueful smile.

Nodding slightly at her words, the king's gaze traveled over her and her friends before returning to the small slayer. "The Mornedhel have sent a message that is to be addressed at a council that has been called for the morrow," he stated. "I think that if you are able, it would be prudent if you were in attendance."

"Of course I'm able," Buffy countered with an indignant scowl. "I had a heart attack, not a stroke," she grumbled as Giles rested a reassuring hand upon her shoulder.

"What Buffy meant to say was that Slayers heal quickly," he explained as Buffy rolled her eyes at his words. She had been telling them the same thing for the past week, and even though she was back on her feet far quicker than any of the healers had anticipated, she was still healing far too slowly in her own mind. She imagined that extreme blood loss over an extended period of time had something to do with it.

"Point is," she continued, her voice containing the strength her body currently lacked, "I'll be more than able to attend your council tomorrow-"

"Not alone, you're not," Xander interrupted, his arm tightening ever so subtly around her shoulders.

"Xander! I'm-"

"Do you really think that we'd leave her alone with you lot after you tried to kill her?" Spike cut in on Buffy's protest, his scowl deepening as he leaned upon his sword, his glare sweeping over the king and his fair-haired companion.

"She will not be harmed," Legolas assured, his blue eyes sparkling at Buffy's long-suffering groan.

"And you expect us to just take your word for it?" Angel asked as the slayer sighed audibly, unable to decide whether she should be annoyed or bemused by her friends' protectiveness. "We don't gamble with Buffy's life."

"No, she seems to do that well enough on her own," Elladan interjected, his face a stoic mask that hid all but the barest glimmer of amusement.

"And what do you mean by that?" Spike interjected, his eyes narrowing dangerously upon the set of twins.

"Simply that-"

"Guys, enough!" Buffy interrupted as Aragorn shot the twins a disapproving glance, obviously begging them to go no further with their taunts.

"Very well then, all shall attend the council," the king relented as he moved to help his foster brothers with the simmering _athelas_. "Might as well invite all of Minas Tirith to the council," Buffy heard him grumble beneath his breath as she glared at her friends once more for good measure before simply reveling in the pleasure of their company.

"Bloody glowing faeries-"

"Spike, will you please desist in your-"

"What? They're not natural!"

"_We_ are not natural?"

"Well, you are kind of girlie looking-"

"Girlie-"

"Yes, you're bloody well not natural with that nancy hair and-"

"_Enough!_"


	28. Chapter 28

**Equinoxium: Chapter 28  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Appropriate credit given to "Potential," "Get It Done," Never Leave Me," and "Conversations with Dead People" for the quotes. Also, huge props to the writers of "Everwood" for giving Dr. Brown such quotable lines for me to slip in during the most opportune moments. They make my sweet moments even sweeter while the good people working for Joss make my crazy moments even more insane.

* * *

_The world was silent and still, without even the whisper of a small breeze to lift the smoke that lay heavy over the sundered city while the sky, dark and heavy with thick, roiling clouds, reflected the reddish light of the fires that razed the once-green Pelennor Fields. Far away the crash of crumbling marble echoed off broken stone, the lonely sound carrying through Minas Tirith to where Buffy stood on the embrasure, the massive outcrop of stone that stretched from the doors of the mighty citadel and over the decimated city; a final, silent sentinel to that which had once been gleaming white under a bright sun - and that which had been destroyed._

_Buffy had never been to this outcropping of rock; she had never been privy to such panoramic views of a country that had finally gained the peace it had long desired. But such details mattered not in this place._

_"It's very beautiful here."_

_Silently nodding at her watcher's words, Buffy gazed upon crumbled stone buildings and massive gates that had been battered into ruin. "It is," she agreed as she surveyed the silent city. "And once it was more," she added as she frowned softly. "But now the streets run with blood," she whispered as she turned to her watcher and gazed at his impassive face. "Giles, I think that we were wrong."_

_"Wrong?" he parroted, his brow crinkling in confusion._

_Buffy turned from her watcher and looked behind her. Halfway between where she stood and the doors to the mighty Citadel was planted a single tree - a tree that was once majestic and white, but was now withered and dead. "Very wrong," she murmured as she turned back to the ravaged city that was spread out before her._

_Sighing, Giles gently placed his hand upon her shoulder. "Buffy, I know that you are tired and very far from home, but you are special. Most people in this world have no idea why they are here, but you do."_

_"I do?" Buffy returned as she looked to her watcher._

_"You have a mission and a reason for being here. You are not here by chance," he explained slowly and patiently. "You are here because you are the Chosen One; the One with the power. You are the One who can make the difficult decisions that we are faced with, for you know as well as I that any one of us is expendable in this war."_

_Turning back to gaze upon the withered white tree, Buffy shook her head. "But what if I was wrong? What if I've always been wrong?" she asked as she looked sadly upon the leafless branches and the peeling bark. "Maybe I shouldn't have this power. Maybe that's not why I'm here," she murmured as she turned to find that the embrasure was gone, replaced instead with a familiar, rickety tower that had been hastily crafted from loose metal beams, with the city of Sunnydale spread beneath the swaying monstrosity. Sitting at the end of this new platform was her sister, dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, with her feet dangling over the rusting edge._

_"Then why are you here?" Dawn asked as Buffy moved forward and settled lightly beside the teen. "Aside from getting rescued, what is it that you do?"_

_"I don't know," Buffy admitted as she studied her sister's profile before shifting her attention to the quiet streets below. "I used to know," she mused. "Everything used to be clear. But now..."_

_"I know why you're here," Dawn assured as a blood-red sun began to rise over the horizon. "You're here because you're scared."_

_Surprised, Buffy quickly looked at her sister's turned face. "Aren't you?" she asked. "I mean, look around us," she instructed as she waved to the streets that were now littered with orcs and dark-elves that ran silently down the paved roads, their gleaming swords cutting through the black, white-etched armor of the Gondorian soldiers that died so valiantly below. "Look around and tell me why I _shouldn't_ be scared," she murmured as she watched the silent blood-bath play out with horrifying detail. "Vashnak and his friends aren't impressed. They already know me. They know what I can do and they're laughing."_

_"So surprise them," Dawn challenged as she finally turned, her large blue eyes solemnly meeting Buffy's for the first time. "Force yourself to do what can't be done."_

_"What can't be done?" Buffy repeated with an arched brow._

_"Survive. Win. It doesn't matter which," the younger girl clarified as she averted her eyes to the massacre below. "You just have to try or else you're not a slayer - you're just a girl that's waiting to be picked off and buried."_

_Buffy shook her head with a fierce scowl. "I've tried being the slayer and look where it brought me," she stated as she jerked a hand angrily towards where one man was getting hewed in two by an orc's bloody scimitar._

_"Fine. Then quit," Dawn returned as she shrugged her shoulders dismissively. "I mean, it worked so well for you before."_

_"Dawn," Buffy sighed._

_"Just stay close," the girl interrupted with a wry smile. "That way you can be of use if they need someone to get weepy or taken captive."_

_Shoulders straightening at the barb, Buffy scooted back from the edge of the platform. "Okay, that was harsh," she admonished as she turned her back on her sister and angrily stalked towards the metal stairs, the entire platform groaning and shaking with the combination of her steps and those of her sister behind her. Huffing, the slayer hurried down the many twisting steps until she finally stepped free of the ill-constructed tower and into the main room of the Magic Box._

_"Buffy-"_

_"No," she interrupted as she paused in her angry strides to glare, not at her sister, but at her two best friends who doggedly followed her steps. "If you have something to say, then say it," she challenged as she glared at Willow and Xander._

_"I think she already did," Xander countered as he cleared the last few steps and leaned stiffly against the counter._

_"Buffy, it's like you've forgotten the reason why you fight," Willow explained as the slayer stubbornly crossed her arms across her chest. "You're not trying-"_

_"Not trying?" Buffy cut in with an angry shake of her head. "Are you blind? I've been trying since the moment that I woke up in this god-forsaken world!"_

_"Have you?" Xander asked. "Because it sure looks more like giving up to me," he stated as he pushed away from the counter and moved until he was towering over her petite frame. "Where's the Buffy that wouldn't stop fighting until the battle was won? Where's the Buffy that would insult those that she fought up until she drove the stake home? Where's the Buffy that-"_

_"Okay, so I haven't been relishing the kill the way I used to," Buffy admitted as she turned from her best friends to glare at the assembled group that stood lounging around the research table behind her._

_"You were a better fighter then," Spike pointed out from where he leaned against a shelf of books, an unlit cigarette dangling from one hand._

_"That's because back then I still had something to fight for!" she heatedly returned as she felt the hated tears begin to burn her eyes. But that in turn only served to remind her of Dawn's pointed jab and the slayer angrily wiped the moisture away. "I did this for you - for all of you!" she hissed as she glared accusingly at her friends. "I came here to restore the balance that you wrecked when you selfishly brought me back," she reminded as she narrowed her eyes upon Xander, Willow, Anya and Tara, "and nobody complained when I was returned to you!" she added as she included the others in her sweeping gaze. Giles, Spike, Dawn, Angel, Oz, Cordelia, Riley - and so many more. In that moment, Buffy made sure that they all felt the pain that she had kept bottled up for so long. The pain that she had bitterly swallowed._

_"And now I'm paying for your mistake," she whispered, her anger dissolving to leave her feeling cold and empty inside. "You guys were my reason to keep fighting, and now I don't have you anymore. There _is_ no reason anymore. There's no reason in any of this," she whispered as she turned away from her friends, only to find the Magic Box had been replaced by the scene of a nightmare._

_She was standing upon the Pelennor Fields, the grasses browned by winter's touch and matted down beneath her booted feet. Opposite her stood an army of darkness - a line that was built of dark-elves and orcs that stretched as far as her eye could see in either direction and in so many rows that it seemed a mirror that carefully reflected the creatures to infinity. Turning, Buffy saw that she actually stood between opposing forces of light and dark, as an army of Men, Elves, and Dwarves was spread in a solid line between her and the guarded city of Minas Tirith._

_"Bring her down, Legolas. Kill her. Kill her!"_

_Startled, Buffy looked to where Aragorn and Legolas stood, situated amongst their friends. The command had been Aragorn's, she knew, and yet the order had been given to the fair-haired elf that stood beside him - the one who slowly reached for the long bow that was slung over one shoulder._

_"You don't have a reason because you prefer to wallow in your self-pity than to find one. Even when one's looking you right in the eye."_

_Swallowing her rising bile, Buffy watched until Legolas had fitted one perfectly crafted arrow against his bow string before she turned to acknowledge the person that stood beside her. "No," she denied as she looked straight into her own green eyes. "No, I have no reason," she murmured to her doppelganger before turning back to where Legolas was now sighting her with practiced ease._

_"You need the pain it causes you," her twin argued. "You need the loneliness and the hate that you feel because of the role that was chosen for you."_

_Buffy curtly shook her head. "Look, we already went over this before. I don't hate like that. Not you," she countered as she turned, pausing when she looked again upon her own likeness. "Or... I guess what I mean is I don't hate myself. Not anymore."_

_Smiling coyly, her twin slowly shook her head, long blond locks trailing around slender shoulders. "Oh, so you think you have insight now because your soul's drenched in blood?"_

_Scowling at her double, Buffy turned and resolutely stared down the perfect shaft of Legolas' arrow. "Would you just shut up already?" she grumbled. "You don't know me. You don't even know yourself," she stated as the elf released the arrow that was aimed at her breast. Closing her eyes, Buffy waited for the pain to come._

_And waited._

_And waited._

_And waited some more._

_"Things are coming, Buffy."_

_Eyes snapping open, Buffy saw that the world had changed again. The two armies had engaged one another, but their bodies were frozen mid-strike or in their death throes, blades reflecting dully off the weak light and glistening off the blood-soaked grounds. Turning, she found Vashnak standing before her, his powerful arm drawn back with his fingers curled around the edge of his taut bow string, one arrow set against the curved wood. Following the straight shaft, Buffy saw that the arrow was aimed at Legolas, the blond elf standing unarmed amongst the frozen tableau with red blood smeared across his pale face. Yet between the two elves... between them stood a vision of white and gold shining light._

_"Mom?" Buffy whispered, feeling the tears begin to once more build, but this time not caring._

_"Just listen, baby. I don't have much time," her mom cautioned, the familiar rich tones causing Buffy's legs to buckle beneath her as she greedily drank in the sight of her mother's soft blonde curls, the fine lines that edged her warm eyes, and pink lips that were tilted in a smile that was at once beautiful and bittersweet. "Dark times are coming and you have no place amongst them."_

_Frowning, Buffy tore her gaze away from her mother's lips and looked to her eyes in confusion. "What? I don't-"_

_"I love you, honey," Joyce cut in, "but these things are greater than you and I. You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you _will_ be alone for he won't be there for you."_

_"Why are you-"_

_"When it's bad, he won't choose you," her mom whispered, her smile sad. "Honey, he won't choose you."_

* * *

"Mom?" Buffy gasped as she bolted upright, her tangled sheets falling away as her wide eyes swept over the darkened room.

"Easy, Buffy. You're safe."

Gasping ragged lungfuls of air, Buffy felt her sweat-slicked skin prickle at the chill temperature of the room as she was enveloped by familiar, strong arms that pressed her against a cool body. Shivering, she leaned into Angel's comforting embrace as she felt the last vestiges of her dream slowly slip away, leaving naught but half-remembered wisps and the cold chill of her mother's final words.

_Honey, he won't choose you._

Buffy firmly pushed the troubling words away, deciding that she'd ruminate on the hidden messages some other time, and instead vainly tried to draw warmth from a body that was so cold. She had found comfort in this embrace for so many troubling years, and when he had gone away, it had been this very embrace that she had so craved. She had tried to find similar comfort in Riley's willing arms, but at times his body had seemed too warm - too soft and pliant in comparison to these hard, cool planes. But now... now those times were so far away in a place so distant that all too soon Buffy found herself pulling away, gently disentangling herself from Angel's arms as she settled her aching body back upon her soft bed.

"Bad dream?" he asked, his voice a low whisper as his pale lips turned down in a small frown, his warm brown eyes questioning her with his concern.

"The worst," Buffy grumbled as she snuggled back beneath the warm blankets, her gaze turning from Angel's to quietly survey the darkened room. "Where is everyone?" she asked, looking from the large, blackened window to the small fire that crackled in the hearth across the simple room.

"Giles and Xander are sleeping in a room down the hall," Angel returned as he followed her gaze, "and Spike went to have a cigarette," he added as a smile quirked his lips. "That Ioreth woman threatened to admit him if he didn't take it outside."

"Admit him?"

"Something about his complexion being too pale," Angel returned with a wry smile.

"And let me guess - you were back brooding in the shadows so she couldn't see your lack of a tan?" Buffy teased, more out of habit than anything else as she carefully eyed his pale features. He was a vampire, so of course he hadn't aged in the time since they had been apart, yet he had changed from the person that she remembered. Oh, the changes were subtle - his dark hair cut a little differently, his shoulders a little broader and his frame a little larger, and the lines around his eyes just a little bit deeper. He looked bigger, as though he had finally regained the weight he had lost after decades of living off rats, and yet... and yet he looked tired and worn. He looked as though his troubles had only increased in the time since he had left Sunnydale, and by the way he was looking at her, she knew that he could read those same changes in her own haunted eyes.

"Giles told me about what happened in LA," she murmured as she untangled one hand from her mess of blankets to twine it with his own, her eyes searching his sad gaze. "Taking over an evil law firm? You do know that this one's gonna come back and bite you in the ass, right? I mean, what were you thinking?" she asked as she squeezed his hand gently to soften the bite of her words.

Frowning, Angel looked down, and Buffy followed his gaze to their twined fingers - fingers that looked so different now. Before, the simple sight of her hand cradled within his own had always served as a startling reminder of the differences that would always lie between them. Her slender fingers had been tanned by the sun's kiss - strong and sure with the vitality of youth. Angel's fingers, in comparison, were always pale and thick - fingers that had at one time caressed the skin of countless lovers before choking the life from their bodies. Now their skin was of the same pale hue, and her fingers trembled with a weakness that was slow to leave her heavy limbs. Now her soul carried the same stains that had weighed down Angel's for over a century.

"I was thinking that I never had the chance to say goodbye," he admitted as her eyes lifted to meet his own.

Smiling ruefully at this admission, Buffy forced her aching body to move over on the small bed as she patted the soft mattress beside her. Nodding at this silent invitation, Angel scooted over and settled onto the bed beside her, one arm dropping over her shoulder and pulling her forward so that her head was cradled on his chest, his other arm holding her tight against him. Closing her eyes, Buffy breathed in his familiar scent, her cheek pressed over his unbeating heart. "This isn't quite the way I had imagined it would end between us," she whispered, noting how her body had always seemed to fit so well against his.

"What had you imagined?" he asked, his words a soft breath against her cheek as she felt a cool kiss pressed against the crown of her hair.

"Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "I guess I always thought that someday we would get our Walt Disney ending. You know, something along the lines of a permanent soul, a big kiss, and a happily ever after. I thought we deserved that much," she whispered, her smile turning wistful. "But I guess that this, more than anything else, just tells us that we really weren't meant to be. I mean, at least we had three years... well, three years and one amazing day-"

"Wait," Angel interrupted, his body stiffening beneath her cheek. "You remember-"

"The day that you lived?" Buffy returned with a wry smile. "Of course I remember," she whispered as she snaked an arm around his back and hugged herself even tighter against his torso. "Something to do with dying and going to heaven tends to make all of that magic fall away."

"But you never said anything," he whispered, his hurt ringing in his soft words.

"I know," Buffy admitted as her eyes slid shut. "But I only saw you that once, and everything was so muddled then. I didn't know quite what to believe. And then so much had happened and so much time had passed, and then Tara died and Willow went crazy, and then with the First wanting to kick my ass... well, I guess it just kind of fell to the side," she finished. "And now... maybe that's for the best."

For a moment there was silence and Buffy could almost feel the internal struggle as the part of Angel that would always love her fought against the side that had left her on the day of her graduation so that she could have a better life. With a reluctant sigh, Angel shifted his arms so that they held her even tighter against him as the inevitable side once more emerged the victor. "Doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

"No, not really," Buffy allowed as she weakly returned his fierce hug, one part of her wishing that it could be different as another ceded to the whims of her fucked up fate. "I'm sorry that Cordelia was evil," she finally murmured, pushing past that which couldn't be changed.

"She wasn't-"

"Yeah, Higher Power," Buffy finished for him as she felt his arms loosen around her small frame. "Got the memo," she added as she hesitated over how best to phrase the next question - and the answer that she already feared she knew. "Although," she began, "things are still a bit hazy on how this Higher Power got Cordy knocked up."

When Angel didn't respond, Buffy felt her fears confirmed as she gently pulled away from his embrace and scooted back on the bed until she could look at the dark-haired vampire's averted face. "Angel?" she prompted as she reached out, only to let the hand fall to her side.

"The Higher Power didn't... it was Connor," he admitted as his eyes reluctantly lifted to meet her own - eyes that shone with so much pain and longing that it took her breath away.

"And that would be the reason why Giles didn't mention him even once in his mondo explanation?" she asked, instinctively knowing that she was only guessing half the story as the vampire once more looked away.

"Buffy... coming to see you wasn't the only thing I got out of the deal with Wolfram and Hart," he hedged as she reached out and forced his chin until he had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"Angel, what happened to Connor? Where's your son?" she whispered, allowing no hint of accusation or recrimination to color her simple questions.

"Happy," Angel returned, a sad smile lifting his lips. "Safe. Normal."

"I don't understand," Buffy murmured, shaking her head slowly.

"The other half of the bargain," he elaborated. "Wolfram and Hart made things right for Connor. He's with a family that loves him and he has no memory of any of this or any of us. Of me," he finished with a smile that was so painful that Buffy felt the tears pool in her eyes.

"Angel, I'm so sorry," she whispered as she gently squeezed his hand.

Smiling ruefully at the small blonde, the vampire attempted a casual shrug as he looked down to their clasped hands. "Apparently my being a father was just another thing that was never meant to be. The thing with Cordy, and really his whole life... it wrecked him. It ruined him," he whispered, his thoughts obviously centered on the boy that she had never met - the boy that Angel couldn't stop talking about the one time that they had talked since her resurrection. "I did what I did to save the two people I love most, even though in both cases it means that I'm only saving them to say goodbye forever."

"I guess that's what makes you a champion."

"What makes _us_ champions," Angel corrected as he squeezed her hand, his eyes daring her to argue. "There's always a hard decision to be made - a sacrifice to be given. But I think you know that as well as I do," he finished as Buffy reluctantly nodded her agreement.

"Yeah, I guess I do," she admitted as her gaze swept over her darkened room, healing implements and jars of herbs scattered over various surfaces. "Just do me a favor and be careful," she whispered as she returned her attention to the vampire that would always be her first love. "I wish I could say that nothing good is going to come from running Wolfram and Hart, but... well, you're here now," she admitted, "and I don't think I'd be able to say the same about myself if it wasn't for you guys. But still..."

"I know," Angel agreed. "We'll be careful."

"And if it's not too much trouble-" she began, her thoughts turning to the little sister that she had been forced to leave behind.

"She'll be safe," he interrupted as he lifted her hand to press a cool kiss against her skin. "They all will be. I'll keep my eye on them," he promised.

"And that's all I ever needed to know," Buffy returned, feeling some part of the heavy weight lift from her shoulders. Even though he'd be running an evil law firm, the slayer knew that she couldn't have left her friends and family in better hands. Angel would sooner die than allow anything to befall those that she loved.

"You know," he mused, his eyes caressing her features as though he was somehow trying to lock in every detail of her pale face, "I'd like to say that if I had one more day with you - one more day to do things differently - I'd do everything right. That I wouldn't make the same mistakes again." Smiling, he slowly shook his head. "But I would," he stated, his voice firm as his eyes caught and held her own. "I would do everything the same all over again, save one thing."

"And what's that?" Buffy asked, a coy smile twisting her lips.

Expression completely serious, Angel gently tugged at her hand, pulling her forward as he leaned forward to press a cool, soft kiss against her forehead. Pulling away, he brushed his lips against her ear. "I wouldn't say goodbye."

"Which time?"

Startled, Buffy pulled back and turned towards the open door to see Spike leaning against the wooden frame, the flickering candlelight reflecting off his spiked, platinum colored hair and an indignant scowl fixed upon his angular features.

"Which time was it that you'd hold off on the goodbyes?" the younger vampire demanded. "I mean, was it the time that you left her to go to hell? Or was it when you left her to go to Los Angeles after she blew up the mayor? Or was it-"

Laughing, Buffy shook her head as she turned back to find Angel glowering at his grand-childe. "I hope that this was really worth your while," she murmured as she slowly pulled away.

Angel seemed to consider this for the briefest of moments before he smiled slyly at the petite slayer. "Of course it was. Not only did I get my goodbye, but I even got to see Spike get nailed with an arrow. Now if only it had hit just a little to the left..."


	29. Chapter 29

**Equinoxium: Chapter 29  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

"So you're sure that this dress thing is wholly necessary?" Buffy asked again as she looked down upon the pale blue gown that she had been helped into by the two girls that now stood quietly to one side. Critically, her eyes took in the fine, hand-woven seams that gathered the soft material against her bust and waist before falling in loose folds around her ankles. Tight inner sleeves of a darker blue hugged her arms and ended mid-way up her palm, while a heavy outer sleeve fell in loose folds in a fashion that screamed all kinds of hippy fun.

"Quite," owyn responded with infinite patience as she finished tying the delicate knots that would hold the small golden braids of the slayer's long hair. "After all, you cannot attend the Council in your night clothes," the woman admonished as she stepped away to admire her work, one hand pressed absently against the swollen bulge that marked her pregnant state.

"I know," Buffy sighed as she glared down at the long, beautiful dress. owyn had insisted that her measurements be taken the very day that she had awoken in the Houses of Healing, and in the ensuing days this dress, as well as several others, had been specially altered for her petite frame. And it wasn't as though Buffy wasn't grateful. After having spent more than a week in one shapeless dressing gown after another, the dresses were better than anything that could have been made by Dior, and they made her feel like a part of the royalty that always seemed to be surrounding her these days. It was a dress straight from every girl's secret fantasy - and perhaps therein lay the problem. The girlish part of Buffy, the one who had once been obsessed with clothing and the latest fashions, was long gone - destroyed, overruled, and stamped out by the Slayer that had taken residence when she had only been fifteen years old.

"This seam should perhaps be a bit tighter," the pale woman murmured as she fingered the soft cloth, a frown playing at her lips.

Nodding distractedly at the shield maiden's words, Buffy chewed her inner lip as she negated her previous assessment. It wasn't the fact that she was the slayer that caused her to be so immune to the beauty of the blue dress, but rather it was the same reason that she had so vehemently protested against wearing a dress back in Rhosgobel. It seemed that in this world, a woman had to fight for whatever respect she could garner from the opposite sex. Middle-earth was obviously a man's world, and though never a die-hard feminist, Buffy was finding that this place was just begging for a wake up call. Even the Dnedain, a group of the most brave and valiant men she had ever met, had been more inclined to look upon her as something to be protected than as an equal. They seemed more apt to trust her opinion in domestic matters than in the art of warfare - or even on how to best care for herself. It was irritating, demeaning, and somehow Buffy doubted that wearing a dress was going to help matters when she met the high ranking officials of Gondor.

"What troubles you?"

Surprised, Buffy turned to find owyn regarding her with ice-blue eyes that were softened with concern. Eyes that, after what had happened the night before with Finduilas and Faramir, should have rightfully looked upon her with nothing but disdain. "Why don't you hate me?" Buffy asked as she lifted her chin to meet the taller woman's gaze.

"Hate you? Why ever would I hate you?" owyn returned, obviously puzzled by the question as she reached out and gently brushed at the folds of the slayer's dress. "Not only have you saved the life of a friend that is most dear to me and my family, but my husband also spoke of the aid that you tried to give to him and my daughter. What trespass would I find in that?"

Buffy looked away with a small frown. "But Faramir-"

"My husband is a quiet man," owyn broke in, her fond smile lessening the severity of her pale features. Turning, the older woman moved gracefully until she stood framed in the large window that looked out into a bright, sunlit winter morning. "He speaks little, for his mind is always occupied with thoughts of family and state. Yet last night he was thrust into a nightmare. Our daughter was threatened; his country was threatened; and as such, he reacted and spoke without thought. Perhaps that makes him less in your-"

"No, it doesn't," Buffy interrupted firmly. "I know that your husband is a good man, and I get why he said and acted as he did. I even understand why Aragorn would rather have me dead than in _their_ hands. But what I _don't_ understand is why... well, why you-"

"Because you are my friend," owyn returned with a gentle smile as she stepped forward and lifted Buffy's hands in her own, causing the slayer to look from their pale fingers to the woman's beautiful features. "We are sisters, you and I, and I would not see you punished for that which you have no choice but to be. You are a shield-maiden, as am I. And neither of us could be anything else, no matter the desires of those who love us most."

Buffy slowly shook her head as she squeezed the other woman's hands, a smile lighting her features. "And there's the biggest difference between us," she murmured, "for it was my loved ones who always counted on me to be their shield-maiden while I wanted to be anything but what I was destined to be," the slayer admitted as she released the woman's warm fingers and bent down to retrieve the midnight blue cloak that was draped over her bed. With fumbling, awkward movements she cast the warm material over her thin shoulders and began wrestling with the finely made clasp.

"Is that so?" owyn queried as she waved one of the girls forward to help secure the long cloak.

"Didn't I just say it was so?" Buffy returned as she reluctantly admitted that no matter the sleep that she had gotten, the fact remained that she had suffered a heart attack only a little over twelve hours ago. When she added that to the perpetual weakness from months of blood loss and abuse at the hands of her captors, and coupled with the excitement of the day before, it really shouldn't have been a surprise that she felt even worse than she did yesterday. Sighing, Buffy curtly shook her head. These days, each step forward seemed to be followed by at least three steps back.

"Yes of course," the White Lady demurred, her features serene. "My apologies," she continued, her thin lips quirking as if there was something on the tip of her tongue - some word of wisdom left unspoken.

Buffy was about to push her friend to say whatever it was that she had been thinking when a hard rap sounded on the wooden frame of the open door. Turning, the pale slayer watched as six heavily armed men, dressed in the black uniforms of the King's guards, shuffled into the large room.

"Ah yes, our escort is here," the pregnant woman noted as she slipped into her own winter cloak, her long fingers easily working the metal clasp.

"Escort?" Buffy parroted as she skeptically took in the guards' unsheathed weapons and hardened faces. "This looks more like Middle-earth's equivalent to the SWAT team than an escort," she pointed out as one man offered her his free arm with a small, polite nod. Sighing, Buffy reluctantly took the proffered help as owyn fell into step beside her, and as the remaining guards slipped into a protective ring about them both. Apparently this time no one was taking any chances of another attempted abduction.

Rolling her eyes at the 'muscle', Buffy's mind wandered as she was guided down maze-like corridors and into the familiar foyer of the Houses of Healing. It was hard to believe that it was only the night before that Vashnak had come for her, cruel taunts of Legolas' death dripping from his lips as he forced owyn's husband and eldest daughter from the warm halls of this sanctuary and into the bitter winter night. That world had been dark, hard and cruel - a blinding defeat of all that she knew. Yet today, Buffy realized, was something wholly different as she was greeted to visions of vivid blue skies, a cool winter's sun that kissed her pale cheeks with her frosty rays, and ample white clouds that were so close that they veiled the mountaintop that rose behind the grand city. Today she knew that Legolas was well and didn't seem to hate her for her treachery. Her friends were here to remind her of the strength that she had thought lost forever. And best of all, today she no longer stood alone.

_You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you _will_ be alone._

Buffy pushed the troubling reminder of last night's dream far, far away and instead turned to her quiet companion. "What did you mean?" she asked as they turned away from the Houses of Healing towards a brightly lit tunnel that was cut into the jagged rock face before them.

"I beg your pardon?" owyn returned with a puzzled smile.

"What did you mean back in the room," Buffy clarified as the group passed through the final gateway that guarded the tunnel's entrance. "You know, when you said that we couldn't be anything other than what we are, and I returned with the whole me not wanting it, and then you followed with a very pointed 'is that so'?" she prompted as her eyes darted about the beautifully-hewn tunnel that turned sharply back towards the mountain, the smooth floor easing into a gentle incline. "You were going to say something else and then changed your mind," Buffy prodded as the silence continued.

"I was," owyn admitted, her eyes firmly fixed on the passageway that was drenched in sunlight from where it emerged into the seventh and most heavily protected circle of the city.

"So... what were you going to say?" Buffy continued impatiently.

With an enigmatic smile, owyn tilted her head conspiratorially towards Buffy. "I was merely going to say that I never realized it was possible to be anything other than what you have always been, and that which you will always be," the White Lady stated as they stepped free of the torch-lit tunnel and into the blinding sunlight beyond.

Wincing at the sudden rush of bright light, Buffy brushed her free hand against her watering eyes - and then froze as she found herself facing the white stone fountain from her dream. Eyes growing wide, Buffy watched as the cool water splashed over smooth stone, coloring the rock a dull white that contrasted sharply with the full, lush tree that grew beside the fountain. "I know this," she whispered, her eyes reverently tracing the full, thick branches that were laden with long, dark green leaves that defied the harsh breath of winter, their silver underbellies glistening in the bright light. "What's this tree?" she murmured as she slipped free of her escort's hold, crossing quickly to the majestic tree as she placed one hand against the smooth white bark.

"This is the White Tree, the symbol of Gondor," owyn explained, her eyes narrowed curiously upon the younger woman. "Isildur, a forefather of the King long past, planted a sapling in this spot over three thousand years ago in memory of his brother who had been slain in battle. It is said that the sapling was descended from a tree that came from the Undying Lands and was a gift from the Elves who have long lived in Valinor."

"Three thousand years ago?"

"Over three thousand years ago," owyn corrected as she eyed the beautiful tree. "Many years after the line of Kings ended, the tree withered and died and thus it remained for one hundred and forty-seven years."

"And then what happened?" Buffy asked as she slowly backed away, her heart tightening as she vividly remembered the tree as she had seen it in her dream: something withered and decaying... something dead.

Shrugging lightly, oblivious to her companion's unease, owyn rested her hand upon her pregnant middle. "Nearly three months after Aragorn's coronation, he and Gandalf climbed Mount Mindolluin," she explained as she waved to the white-peaked mountain that the city was buttressed against. "On the peaks of the mountain they found a sapling of the White Tree, most likely grown from a fruit that had been planted long ago and had lain dormant for many years. The Withered Tree, as the old tree had been called, was taken down and laid to rest in the Silent Street, where the Kings and Stewards are buried, and the sapling was planted in its place. And as you can see, the tree has flourished in the years since," she added with a small, proud smile. "There are many who see it as a sign of rebirth and renewal for the Kingdom of Gondor."

Feeling her shoulders slump at this statement, Buffy resignedly shook her head. "Now if that isn't loaded with all kinds of hidden messages, I don't know what is," she grumbled, suddenly wishing that she had left the slayer dreams back in her own world. Sighing, she turned away from the tree, her eyes glancing at the impressive White Tower that rocketed into the clear sky beyond the fountain, and looked back towards where she knew she would find the embrasure that jutted out from this small plateau to overlook the city of Minas Tirith. Sure enough, the walk stretched behind her into a jagged ledge that pointed towards the dark mountains that lined the horizon opposite of the White City, with the Pelennor Fields and the city of Osgiliath standing in between. Yet her eyes didn't linger on the white city that straddled the river Anduin, bright fire pouring dark smoke from the tall buildings, but instead fell upon a familiar tall and slender figure that she would always recognize.

"Spike," she murmured, her keen eyes tracing his lean shoulders and the way that the sun reflected off of his platinum locks, all the while marveling at how different the vampire looked in the natural light. Angel had mentioned the time that he had spent in Pylea, the alternate dimension in which he and the others had found Fred, and the place where the sun didn't cause the vampire to combust into ashes. The night before he had hazarded that Middle-earth's sun would be similarly non-lethal, and yet it was one thing to think it and something completely different to witness firsthand.

"I'll be right back," she murmured, waving distractedly to owyn and the Gondorian SWAT team as she began making her slow way down the impossibly long embrasure. She heard the guards protest against allowing her to venture anywhere alone, but apparently a cool rebuke from the White Lady, pointing out the impossibility of Buffy being in danger of anything save for a suicidal jump, was enough to silence the group of men.

The walk seemed to take forever, and Buffy realized that the last few steps were more staggered than anything else, but this was a case where her patented stubbornness paid off. Weakly she finally reached the walk's end and all but collapsed upon a beautifully carved stone bench that sat immediately behind Spike's silent figure, one hand pressed against her hammering heart as she tried to get her ragged breathing under control.

Slayer endurance be damned, she thought with a wry grimace.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've stood in the sun?"

Flustered and more than a little breathless, Buffy waved an impatient hand at the vampire's back. "Yeah, I know this one. Give me a minute," she assured as Spike turned to her, first surprise at her clothing, and then concern at her pale, waxy features causing his brilliant blue eyes to crease along the fine corners. "Um... two - no, wait... three years," she returned as he settled lightly beside her, one hand quickly ensnaring her own as he distractedly shook his head at her answer.

"What are you on about?" he asked as his eyes quickly swept over her face before he turned agitatedly back towards where the Citadel pierced the beautiful sky above, as if expectomg the old bat of a healer, Ioreth, to burst out of some hidden crevice to scold him for tiring her patient.

"I'm fine," Buffy assured as she slipped her hand from his tight hold to gently swat his shoulder. "And it's been three years since you last basked in the sunshine," she repeated with a soft sigh as the tightness in her chest began to ease. Yet at Spike's continued confusion, Buffy flashed him a bright smile. "You remember - the ring of Amara? You tried to kill me?" she prompted as Spike returned her smile with that boyish charm she remembered so well.

"Oh yeah. Almost forgot about that one," he returned, his smile sobering somewhat as a darkness passed over his chiseled features.

Buffy quickly turned from her friend and looked over the stunning panoramic view as she forced a levity to her voice. "Yeah, but that one probably doesn't count," she assured. "You didn't have your soul then," she added as she felt his fingers close around her chin, gently forcing her to meet his solemn gaze.

"No, I didn't," he agreed, and in those eyes Buffy saw the love that had prompted a demon to fight for the return of the soul that had merged so seamlessly with the vampire that it was hard to see where the demon ended and where the man began.

"Spike, I-"

"No, you listen to me," he cut in, refusing to allow her to look away. "I've been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that," he stated, his serious expression haunting his pale features. "I've seen things you couldn't imagine and done things I'd prefer you didn't. Don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker," he admitted with a small, inelegant shrug. "I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain," he added, that smile returning for the briefest of moments as Buffy smiled in return.

Yes, she knew quite well that he didn't always think with his head. But that was one of the traits that she had always loved so much about him. If Angel had one fault, it was that he thought too much. He brooded about the past, the present, and the possible future. But Spike... Spike was his grand-sire's opposite. If Angel thought too much, then Spike thought too little. He acted without thinking - he acted based upon the urgings of his heart, and as a result he had landed himself in numerous difficult situations throughout the years - and he had also saved her time and time again because of that same willingness to follow his heart.

"I make a lot of mistakes," he continued, his expression growing somber. "But Buffy, I've been alive for a hundred plus years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of, and that's you."

Sighing softly, Buffy pulled out of Spike's grip and turned her head away, wishing now more than ever that her hair was free to slip around her shoulders and screen her from the vampire's imploring gaze.

"Hey, I'm not asking you for anything," Spike gently chided as he brushed a cool hand against her cheek. "Hell, I can't ask for anything, what with us not even being in the same world anymore," he amended with a ghost of his usual smile as Buffy once more met his bright blue eyes that glittered in the sun's rays. "I just... I just wanted you to know that when I say I love you, it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, and how you try. Buffy, I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity what you are," he explained, his voice growing deeper as she found herself holding her breath, waiting for his final deliberation.

She didn't know why Spike's final say in this mattered so much to her. He had been her friend and lover - a confidante when the rest of the world had been too much - and that had all been when he had no soul to ground him. He had been a demon who had been capable of love - a love that had driven him to claim the one thing that would change him forever. And Spike had been changed. With a small frown playing at the corners of her lips, Buffy gently lifted a hand as she traced it over the cool, soft skin of his pale cheek.

"You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy," he murmured, and with those words she felt as though the rest of the world could melt away, for _this_ was the difference between the demon-Spike and the ensouled-Spike that sat before her. Spike's demon had loved her, of that there was no doubt, but that Spike had only been able to love her with all of his heart. This Spike... this Spike loved her heart and soul, and for that, Buffy knew that she would always be grateful. To be loved so well and deeply by both Angel and Spike had been the greatest gifts that she had ever been given, and their love, as well as that of all of her friends, would continue to be the strength that she drew upon. It didn't matter that she no longer fought for the world that they lived in, for Spike was right. She _was_ the one. She was the Chosen One and it was high time she started acting like it.

"I know, and thank you," Buffy returned as she leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against that special spot between his lips and cheek. "I wouldn't have made it those last few months if it hadn't been for you," she admitted as she pulled back to see that tears now rimmed his beautiful gaze.

"No, you would've been fine, even without me," he returned, his voice gruffer than normal as he quickly stood and adjusted his long leather duster. "But thanks for saying it," he added as he extended a hand towards her. "Now come along, pet - we have a ruddy council to attend."

* * *

"The _Mornedhel_ have sent a letter, my lord."

"Since when have orcs been able to write?"

"They are not orcs and you must desist in believing them to be so simple or else we will all be-"

"So this transformation not only enhances their bodies but their minds as well? What is next? Perhaps we should-"

"Do not be ridiculous! Such ponderings are-"

"Ridiculous? I merely-"

"I say that we should-"

"That will be quite enough! There will be order here or else this council shall be adjourned!"

As silence descended upon the large chamber, Buffy arched a fine brow at her companions before shrugging her small shoulders. She and Spike had only arrived a few minutes before, but already she found herself wishing that she had just remained upon that quiet stone bench with all of Middle-earth spread before her. Instead she found herself in a huge room that was located up an obscene amount of stairs in Aragorn's phallic-like tower, surrounded by old men who seemed to get off on trying to talk over one another. Well, a lot of men, four elves, two vampires, and a dwarf.

Shifting in her chair, Buffy ignored Giles' hissed urgings to just sit still as her gaze traveled around the long table. Aragorn sat at its head, with the twins and Gimli sitting to one side, and Faramir, Legolas, and Thoron to the other. From there the rest of the table seemed to be divided amongst multiple factions that all held differing opinions on just about everything, some far more vocal than others. She and her friends, in contrast, had been silent thus far. Not that she had any real hope of that holding out.

"Suddenly wondering how Congress ever gets anything done," Xander whispered from across the table, earning the carpenter scolding words from Giles and glares from the men seated around him.

"Oy, would someone just read the damn letter already?" Spike loudly called out, causing the glares to swing in his direction as Buffy collapsed against the hard back of her chair. This was going to be a _long_ meeting.

"There will be order here," Aragorn called out again, his voice ringing above the muttered words of his lords and councilors, causing silence to fall. "Faramir, if you would," he continued as he waved to his steward.

Nodding in reply, Faramir lifted a creased bit of paper, his brow furrowing as he struggled to make out the writing. "It reads, _You have until sunset to return to us that which you have taken. If given freely, we shall leave your lands unmolested. If not, we will burn Osgiliath to the ground before making our presence known throughout all of your kingdom. The steward's dwellings in Emyn Arnen to the south, the colony of Elves to the north, and the villages of Men to the west - Cair Andros, Nardol and Eilenach - will be among the first to fall if our demands are not met, for while you can hide in your city of stone, protecting those you hold dear, those that love you and call you Lord and King will not be so fortunate. Will you abandon them to our swords? Release the girl and we will leave you and your people in peace._"

A thick silence fell as Faramir finished speaking, and the eyes of those gathered turned accusingly towards Buffy.

Until Spike diverted the unwanted attention with one derisive snort.

"What?" he asked as the scowls turned towards him, thereby sparing her from further scrutiny. "And you believe them?" he continued as the men began to mutter down the long table. "I mean, I hate to break it to you, mates, but if these blokes are as bad as you all say, then I hardly think they'll just nancy off to wherever they came from. They're evil. What more did you need to know?" he asked as the mutterings grew louder.

Sighing audibly, Faramir shook his head. "I hate to admit it," he began, only to pause and narrow his eyes upon the bleached-blond vampire. "I _really_ hate to admit it," he amended with a dark scowl, "but he has a point. Whatever face they now wear, they are still orc, through and through. Even if they leave today, they would surely return another day, even stronger than before, which makes the answer to their demands quite obvious."

"Yet is it?" one beefy man cut in before hastily bowing his head respectfully towards Faramir. "Pardon my interruption, my lord," he added, his large chin quivering in his haste, "but is our answer so clear?" He briefly leveled a dark glare at Buffy before spreading his hands entreatingly to his steward and king. "If the elves are correct, the numbers of these dark creatures are far greater than our own. Without the men of Rohan and Dol Amroth to bolster our forces, we will not stand a chance. Perhaps if we just give them what they want we may be able to delay their strike long enough for the others to reach our borders."

"And then what?" another man demanded as Buffy shifted indignantly in her chair, wishing that her glare alone could burn the fat man to the ground. She wasn't just a bit of meat to be passed around. "Lord Hathryn, if they have the girl their numbers will only grow stronger!" the other man continued. "We cannot release her to them!"

"And so instead we will provoke a battle that we cannot possibly win?" Hathryn countered as Buffy felt her temper begin to fray. "We should just give them the girl-" he insisted as the entire room erupted as everyone interjected their heated opinion.

Scowl deepening, Buffy watched as those that were strangers to her vehemently argued the merits of handing her over to the Dark-Elves, while those that she called friend threatened death to any who tried. Even Giles had been swept up in the moment as he attempted to talk over the older man that he sat beside, the watcher's face flushed an angry red. "Oh, this is freaking ridiculous," she grumbled as she watched Aragorn and Faramir struggle to be heard over the angry male voices, trying in vain to bring order to a group that was quickly fracturing beneath the words of too many strong-willed men. Men that continued to argue about Buffy as if she weren't even there.

"The girl must-"

"_The girl has a name!_" Buffy snapped, her furious words cutting through the melee of deeper voices. Once more the slayer felt the oppressive weight of so many unfriendly eyes upon her, but this time she was far too angry to care. "Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once," she continued, her voice ringing in the high-ceilinged room. "This person that you're all arguing about? That's me. _I_ was the one who just went through two months of hell and it was _my_ blood that they took. Or did you all just think that I sat there and said here, please slit my wrist and have at it?" she demanded as she glared at the assembled men.

"Didn't you?" Hathryn returned with a disdainful sniff. "We all know that you-"

"Listen," Buffy cut in, her voice once more rising above her friends' angry protests. "The fact of the matter is that I don't care what you think you know. All that matters is that I'm not your enemy here. If you want to see your enemy, why don't you and everyone else just step outside and take a look at the creatures that are chanting for your blood," she stated as she waved angrily towards the tightly sealed door behind her. "They're the ones that you should be fighting here. I'm on your side-"

"Are you?" the fat man returned, his small eyes raking over her slight form, bound as it was in the owyn's beautiful blue gown, before turning from her with a dismissive snort.

Furious now, Buffy planted both hands on the table before her and forced her trembling limbs to support her weight. She felt Giles' quelling hand upon her shoulder, but she was beyond the point of listening to her watcher's cool reasoning. This was her life that they were so casually talking about - a life that Spike and all of her friends had only recently encouraged her to win back. Not to mention that she was _the_ slayer in this world. Once again she was the _one_ person that was born to fight the kind of darkness that her blood had altered. She was one of the good guys, and if this pompous jerk didn't believe that then...

It was his loss.

Floundering at this realization, Buffy felt all of her anger melt away as she slowly sunk into her hard-backed chair. Since when had she ever felt the need to explain herself or her motives to someone else's lackey? For in the end, that was all that this man was. That was all that any of these people were, she realized as she looked around to the expectant faces of Aragorn's many councilors. There were only a handful of people in this room whose opinion mattered to her, and four of them had shown their love and devotion to her many times over in the past seven years. And the rest?

With a small sigh, Buffy looked down the long table to where Legolas sat with his friends and allies. The elf hadn't spoken since his quiet greeting when she had entered the chamber at Spike's side. Yet as she caught his ageless gaze, Buffy realized that she didn't need to have him jumping to her every defense to show where his opinions lay. Legolas was an elf whose actions spoke far more than the gentle words he offered, and by stepping between Aragorn's sword and her breast the night before, he had proven without a doubt where he believed her loyalties to lie. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

Smiling softly at the fair-haired elf, Buffy calmly folded her hands before her as she met Lord Hathryn's beady-eyed gaze. "I don't have to defend myself to you," she stated, her voice tinged with the right amount of disdain as she returned her attention to Aragorn in a clear dismissal that in her eyes, the issue was over.

"Then I will," Xander snapped from beside her as he stood from his seat so quickly that the chair toppled back and smacked against the white stone floor. Startled, Buffy turned to her normally calm and even-tempered friend as he glared at the portly lord. "I've been through more battles with Buffy than you can ever imagine-"

"Oh, here we go," Angel groaned as Spike began to snicker behind one upraised hand.

Flustered, Xander paused long enough to glare at the two vampires before clearing his throat. "As I was saying, she's stopped everything that's ever come up against her. She's even laid down her life - literally - to protect the people around her," he continued as he turned to include the assembly in his heated gaze. "This girl has died two times, has given up everything that she knows, and she's still standing. But you doubt her motives and you take the little bus to battle," he warned as Buffy felt her cheeks begin to burn. "I've seen her heart," he added before pausing once more, his expression faltering. "And this time not literally," he clarified with a small wince, "and I'm telling you that right now she cares more about your lives than you will ever know. You gotta trust her. She's earned it."

As another weighted silence fell upon the room, Buffy's eyes remained locked upon her unusually solemn friend as a small smile curved the corner of her lips. Catching his gaze for the briefest of moments, she nodded her thanks as he awkwardly shrugged his shoulders before righting his seat. Turning, Buffy noted with satisfaction that for the first time, it seemed as though Lord Hathryn had nothing to say.

"This council does not doubt the lady's intentions," Aragorn assured as he leveled a fierce glare at the outspoken lord. "The elves have already vouched for her," he added, pointedly ignoring the disgruntled murmurs of a few of the council members and the distrustful looks that were aimed at his elven companions, "and that is more than sufficient for this Council. What must be decided now is where we will go from here," he finished, his words causing a somber air to fall upon the room.

"Messengers were sent to Halbarad's rangers in the north and to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth at first light," Faramir explained, his voice grim. "However, aid will come quickest from Rohan. The watch towers were lit during the night, which means it will be at least four days until King omer's reinforcements will arrive, and longer for the others."

"We do not have four days," Elladan murmured as he tilted his head toward his foster brother.

"No, we do not," Aragorn agreed as he steepled his fingers before him. "They have given us until tonight to make our decision, and so it is tonight that we will first stand against them."

"But my lord," Hathryn tentatively interjected. "My lord, we haven't the numbers. We will be slaughtered-"

"I know that either option seems ill," Aragorn cut in, his voice hard, "but we cannot allow the lady to fall back into their hands-"

"Bloody hell you won't," Spike grumbled, his eyes narrowed upon the king.

"We have no choice but to hold them for at least four days until the reinforcements arrive," the king smoothly continued.

"But four days-"

"I think we can hold that lot of wankers for four days," Spike cut in with a cocky grin as he slouched back in his chair.

"So you're staying then," Gimli noted, his gruff voice carrying in the large chamber.

"If that's what Buffy wants," Angel replied before any of the others could, his eyes seeking her out. "We fight for whatever she's fighting for," he continued as Buffy tried to share in his smile. Yet even as the others nodded their agreement, Buffy found her trust in that promise lacking.

"Though I don't know why she'd want to help the bleeding ponces that tried to kill her-"

"The point being that you have our help," Giles interjected, smoothly talking over the remainder of Spike's retort.

"No, they don't."

Eyes slipping shut, Buffy dipped her head towards her chest as the room fell silent beneath the weight of this new voice that confirmed her silent fears with three small words. She had never heard the deep baritone before, but it didn't matter because those simple words immediately reminded her of her dream's warning that she had been trying so hard to forget:

_You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you _will_ be alone for he won't be there for you._

Her dream had warned her that 'he' wouldn't be there for her, and seeing as how she was surrounded by more he's than not, she was pretty sure that the dream had been talking about the four friends that had jumped worlds to come to her aid. They had saved her more than just physically when they came here. They had reminded her of her reasons to fight. But now there was a battle to come, and Buffy knew without saying that her friends weren't intended to stand beside her in this fight - her dream had shown her this much. They weren't intended to stand beside her ever again.

The slayer resignedly lifted her head and used her senses to guide her eyes to the old man that slowly shuffled from the shadows that had embraced him. From the reactions of the others, and the fact that Legolas and company weren't immediately reaching for the nearest weapon, it was obvious that this man was known to him and his friends, but to Buffy he was a stranger; broad shoulders bent with age, a Dumbledore-esque beard that was impossibly long and hung in a tangled mess over brown, tattered robes, and saddened gray eyes that looked out from a face that was lined and creased with the irrepressible passage of time. But while her eyes showed her this picture of an old man that shuffled from the shadows and into the natural light that filtered in from the windows high above, her senses spoke to her of power while they tingled with a warning that was all too familiar.

"Demon," she whispered, her eyes narrowing as the stranger shuffled past Legolas and the others, ignoring their questions as his eyes remained locked upon her friends.

"You again," Aragorn noted, his unease shining in his gray eyes. But the old man had no interest in the King of Gondor and instead looked past the people of Middle-earth to pierce her friends with his narrowed gaze.

"You four need to leave this world now and go back to where you belong," the stranger grumbled as his eyes swung towards her for the briefest of moments. Yet it was that solitary moment that was the stranger's undoing.

"Whistler."


	30. Chapter 30

**Equinoxium: Chapter 30  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

"Whistler," Buffy hissed as she pushed back from her seat, her rage giving her the strength to stand on limbs that shook with a weakness that would be long in leaving her abused body. With anger driving her, Buffy crossed the distance to the balance demon who was sheltered within an aged costume, his eyes widening at her furious approach. "Just give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your ass right now," she growled as she paused before him, her shoulders straightening and her chin lifting to meet his wary gaze. Yet whatever intimidation she had gained in her strong words and proud stance was ruined as her weakened body buckled beneath the strain of far too much harm. Xander's quick arms were the only thing that prevented her from taking an embarrassing spill before a room full of strangers.

Smiling slyly, the old man nodded once as his form wavered and then melted into the small man in the hideous green suit and bowler hat that she knew all too well, to the amazed gasps and startled exclamations of those gathered. "You mean besides the fact that you couldn't even kick Xander's ass at the moment?" Whistler asked with an oily smirk, prompting an indignant glower from the dark-haired Scooby who was busy supporting the weakened slayer, the two vampires poised at his side.

Yet before Buffy had a chance to form a retort, Giles was already out of his seat and moving fluidly towards the balance demon, a purely Ripper-esque gleam in his eye as, with one well-placed punch, he sent the shorter creature down upon the polished stone floor. "Yeah, you'll find that's what I have friends for," Buffy bit back as the balance demon groaned, holding one hand against his bruised chin.

"And she's got plenty more where that came from," Spike growled beside her.

"No, no need," Whistler assured as he quickly held up one hand while the other gently probed his aching jaw. "Though I will admit to being a bit surprised at the abundant hostility," he admitted as he gingerly stood, his eyes warily jumping back and forth between Giles' taut form and the two vampires and a carpenter that were all evidently waiting for their turn to work out their aggressions. "I thought that you'd be happy," the balance demon continued as he nodded towards Buffy. "We were giving you the opportunity to be sent back to the place that your friends ripped you from."

"Liar," Buffy returned, her voice as cold as ice. "The only reason that you sent me here was to use my blood to make this world's evil even worse for these people - and then to kill me," she finished as she waved her hand at her watcher, silently indicating that she had this covered. Though her body was still frail and she looked the part of the invalid, her friends had given her the strength to replenish the parts that mattered most.

"Well yeah, you could look at it that way," Whistler agreed as he shrugged his rounded shoulders. "Then again, I guess we should have learned by now that we can't count anything as fact with you, Kid," he continued with a small smile. Jerking his thumb to where Legolas and the others were watching with rapt attention, he slowly nodded his head. "While we saw the others, we didn't see him coming. And we also didn't see the interference of someone else," he added with a small glower that piqued Buffy's curiosity. Anyone that managed to mess with Whistler's plans was alright in her books.

"Someone else?" she prodded.

"The Valar," Whistler clarified with an indifferent shrug. "They were sticking their noses where they don't belong - again."

"Then you were not sent by the Valar?" Elladan queried, his dark brow arched in confusion.

"You are not Istari?" Elrohir added as he shot a baffled look to his twin.

"Me? Istari?" Whistler asked with a small laugh. "Not even close," he assured as he tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his green suit. "Nah, I just thought you'd take the message to heart a bit better if I showed up wearing something a little more familiar. You made your own assumptions and I went with them," he explained as he rocked back on the balls of his heels.

"I don't understand," Xander whispered to Giles as he warily eyed the little man. "What does valor have to do with any of this?"

"You mean the Valar, and good question," Whistler returned as he nodded at the dark-haired young man. "The Powers and the Valar are higher beings with different agendas: the Valar work for this world while the Powers That Be answer to all worlds," he explained, his eyes drifting to the leaders of Middle-earth. "The Powers work for balance, but every now and again someone throws a wrench in their big plans and then it's up to me to help get things back on track. For example, this world's big wrench came when that 'little hobbit that could' defied all odds and got rid of the ring that belonged to 'wish I had a body' Sauron. Frodo Baggins should have failed that day, but the Powers hadn't counted on the fact that in this world, friendship and fellowship were enough to see things through - and they really didn't see Samwise Gamgee coming in to save the day and help to do what should have been the impossible."

"So this world was unbalanced," Giles surmised with a thoughtful frown, "just as our world was thrown out of balance when Willow and the others managed to resurrect Buffy."

"Give the Watcher a scone," Whistler mocked as he rolled his eyes at the Brit, obviously expecting a scowl out of the bookish man, only to be surprised by the fierce glare that was leveled in his direction. "Easy there, tiger," he urged, backing up a step as he gently massaged his swollen jaw. "I only meant to say that you hit that one right on the head. So with two worlds out of balance, the Powers decided to kill two birds with one stone."

"And I would be the stone," Buffy grumbled as she arched a brow at the smaller man. "So you sent me here to stop the First Evil on my world and... what then?" she asked. "You guys wanted all of this?"

Whistler tentatively shook his head as he stepped back a couple of paces. "Not exactly," he admitted as he chanced a glance at her friends.

"So what _was_ supposed to happen?" Buffy demanded, daring the man to say it aloud.

Recognizing the glimmer in the slayer's eye, Whistler paused for a healthy moment before pushing ahead. "Like I said before, we thought you'd be happiest this way."

"Happiest _what_ way?" Buffy pushed, for some reason needing to hear the words spoken aloud.

Sighing, Whistler forced himself to meet her eyes as he nodded solemnly. "You were supposed to be captured that first day when the orcs attacked, and eventually, you were meant to be killed after enough of them had been turned."

"But that didn't happen," Buffy whispered, somehow feeling deflated beneath the acknowledgement that the higher powers that she had spent seven years working for had sent her here to die.

"No, it didn't," Whistler agreed with a sad smile. "From what we've been able to figure out, it seems that the Valar intervened when they sent blondie, here, out to kill you before any of the orcs were changed," he admitted as they both turned to Legolas who had been silent to this point, his face unreadable.

"Then none of your plans were achieved," the elf stated, obviously thinking back upon the dream that he had spoken of - the one that had asked for her blood to be spilled before the two armies. "Neither goal was achieved for she was killed by neither," he stated as she met his solemn gaze.

"Well, at first we thought that we'd still get our way," Whistler countered. "We were given our army and the slayer, here, was still going to die. The Powers were content to sit back and let things take their course."

"So why did you step back in?" Buffy asked with saddened resignation. "If you hadn't told them where I was being held, I would have died and you would have had your way."

"Yeah, that plan backfired on us," Whistler admitted with a small shrug. "But after your little sister's visit, we knew that it wouldn't be long until your friends came here, as they have, and mucked things up even worse - balance-speaking, of course. So we decided to step things up a bit and get you back where you really belong even quicker. Unfortunately," he added with a weighty sigh, "the Valar must have realized the same thing and one upped us with that little vision trick they have going on."

"Vision trick?" Faramir asked, an expression of bewilderment on his handsome features as he looked from his king to the strangely dressed man.

"Yeah, the dreams that blondie's been getting," Whistler clarified as he waved towards Legolas. "You see, the Valar won't interact directly as your worlds are separate now. But you had three powerful elves looking out for their children and grand-children back in Middle-earth, pulling in every favor they could - not to mention a wizard that holds a lot of weight over there. So they compromised with those dreams that he's been having. The end result? No one's getting what they want."

Buffy slowly leaned against Xander as she eyed the demon that had always been a bearer of bad news. "So why are you here now?" she asked, getting right to the heart of the matter. "It's not like I'm just going to roll over and die. You should have learned that by now," she pointed out as she crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest, all the while ignoring the fact that if it hadn't been for her friends, she would have been willing to do just that. It was funny how much one's perspective could change over the course of twelve hours.

Nodding at her retort, Whistler spread his hands wide, that same sly smile once more pulling at his lips. "Never let anyone say that you don't have spunk, Kid," he credited before shrugging apologetically. "Yet the fact remains that something needs to be done."

"Well I would say that I'm open to suggestions, but the truth is - I'm not," Buffy stated, her voice flat. "You can tell your Powers that I'm through being their puppet. I no longer work for them; I'm no longer one of their Champions; I'm no longer their pawn or _anything_ to them. We're through," she finished, her voice filled with a strength that had been lacking for so long.

Grinning openly, Whistler rocked back on his heels again. "Off the record? I was hoping you'd say that," he admitted as he nodded at her, as if in approval of the return to the slayer that she had always been. "Although at the least, the others need to go home," he warned, returning to business at hand as he waved at her friends from Sunnydale. "Their presence is only going to force the Powers' hand to offset this new development to make things balance again. And Kid? Good luck. I hope that we won't be seeing each other again," he added before disappearing in a flash of light that once more left people scrambling from their seats, loud voices clamoring to be heard over one another - loud voices that all but smothered the five friends beneath the weight of the balance demon's final warning.

Buffy had known all along that this moment was coming. Giles had warned her that this stay could only be temporary, Angel had admitted to much the same, and even Spike had been resigned to the fact that this reunion couldn't last forever. She had even known that their parting was going to be sooner rather than later, what with war looming on the horizon, but that forewarning did little to ease the pain that came with Whistler's parting words. "Well, you heard the man," she murmured as she indicated for her friends to follow her into a more secluded corner of the room. Holding out her hand, she silently asked for the small glass vial that contained her friends' return ticket to the land of modern conveniences.

"What?" Xander exclaimed, his eyes growing wide as Giles reluctantly retrieved the small vial from an inner pocket and dropped it in his slayer's open palm. "Buff, you can't really be thinking of listening to that... that stupidly dressed moron! He's the one that got you into this mess!" He turned to the others for support, only to find that he stood alone in this matter.

"Xan, we don't have a choice here," Buffy sighed as she closed her small hand around the cool glass. Smiling sadly, she looked down upon her clenched fist. "Allowing one champion back where I didn't belong enabled the First Evil to build an army. Do you really want to see what the Powers will allow when _two_ champions are thrown into the mix?"

"Fine," Xander stated obstinately as he grasped her shoulder and forcefully turned her until she was looking up into his serious brown eyes. "Send Dead Boy One and Two back - you can even send G-Man, but I'm not going anywhere," he insisted as he visibly struggled with his words. "Buff, you're one of my best friends - one of the original Scoobies. I'm not leaving you behind again," he whispered, his voice growing strangled.

Smiling softly at his words, Buffy gently reached up and pulled her friend close. "Xander, I love you so much," she whispered as she reluctantly pulled away. "But you do understand what's going to happen here, right? War-"

"Which is of the bad, granted," Xander cut in with a tremulous smile. "But as George Washington once said, I'm not afraid to die. I just don't want to be there when it happens."

"And that would be Woody Allen," Buffy corrected with a small smile.

"Yeah, well the man had a point."

"Which is?" Spike asked, earning himself a nasty glare from the young man.

"The point is I don't care what's going to happen here," Xander insisted, refusing to be baited. "It could be Pearl Harbor for all I care, because I'm not leaving you again. Buffy, you're more than my best friend. You're my family. More family than my parents have ever been."

"Which is why you know you can't stay," Buffy returned as she felt the familiar burning begin to itch at the corner of her eyes. "Xander, Willow's family, too, and she can't lose us both," she whispered, using the only bargaining chip that she had. Xander had always been the heart of the group, and as such, it had always been his heart that had driven all of his actions. His heart was the reason behind all of his good decisions as well as those that landed him into so much trouble. By listening to his heart he had followed her into the Master's lair and breathed life back into her starved body. By following his heart he failed to pass along Willow's message and had urged her to kill Angelus, never warning her that Willow was trying the soul-restoration spell again. By following his heart he had betrayed Cordelia by sneaking around with Willow. And that was only within the first three years that she had known him. In the years since he had grown from the clumsy, goofy guy that had fallen for her to the quiet, confident young man that stood before her today. He had stood beside her against every apocalypse that she had ever faced, and it was because of his heart that he had been able to prevent Willow from ending the world less than a year ago this day. His heart had always been his greatest strength as well as his greatest weakness - and as such, Buffy knew exactly which buttons to push to ensure that her friends would be safe and return to the home that was still theirs.

"Xander, you need to go home," she whispered, forcing the smile that felt so false as she allowed him to pull her close for one more bone-crushing hug.

"I just always thought that I would be there with you, you know, for the end," he whispered as he held her as though trying to put a lifetime full of love into that one embrace. "I should be at your side. That's all I'm saying."

"And you will be," Buffy returned as she put everything that she could into this final embrace with a past that would forevermore be nothing but a memory. "You're my strength, Xander, and I trust you with my life. That's why I need you to do this for me," she reassured as she gently disentangled herself from her best friend, trying to ignore the pain that twisted his boyish features into a distraught mask.

She turned away and smiled at her watcher, who watched this goodbye between two of his children with saddened eyes. "And they all need you," she added as she reached for his hand with fingers that trembled from weariness and strain. "The hardest part of leaving was believing that you weren't there to take care of them all," she admitted as she was engulfed in one final goodbye with the man that had been everything to a frightened and confused young girl. "They need you. We always have."

Smiling tightly, she felt her Watcher's hitched breath upon her forehead as he pulled away, his hazel eyes raking over her pale features. "Remember to eat lots of red meat, fish, poultry, and dark green vegetables, such as broccoli and spinach. All are good sources of iron - and no tea, coffee, or smoking," he warned. "They will only slow your healing."

Faking a tired salute, Buffy flashed a quick, watery grin as she turned at Spike's gentle touch. "We already got our goodbyes, but the others wanted to make sure that they got theirs as well," the vampire explained as he dropped Giles' black duffel on the floor at their feet. "There's something in there from everyone," he added before pulling her close in an embrace that caused her ribs to ache and her breath to wheeze through parted lips. And then Spike was gone and Angel was in his place, this embrace far more gentle and tender as he whispered his final partings - partings that were meant to last forever.

After days of everything seeming to move so slowly, Buffy now felt overwhelmed by time that slipped through her fingers faster than she could possibly comprehend. She was the one who had initiated this goodbye, but suddenly it was happening too fast and her heart ached as her four friends pressed close in one last farewell that connected them all. Struggling for a breath that wouldn't come, she was embraced on all sides, overwhelmed by the mingled scent of the four men that had meant the most in her life for seven long years - and yet the cool cylinder of glass that rested in her palm was her grounding point.

"How lucky I am to have known someone who is so hard to say goodbye to," Giles whispered as she felt his warm lips press against her forehead. And with these words, Buffy slipped her eyes shut and clenched her hand into a fist, shattering the fragile glass as the jagged shards pierced the flesh of her hand, mingling her blood with the clear fluid held within. In that moment, there was no sound as everything became swallowed in a vacuum - a rush of heat and silent wind in which the press of warm and cool bodies disappeared as if they had never been, with only the lingering sensation of Giles' lips tingling upon her skin.

Alone in this silent vacuum, Buffy lifted one shaking hand and pressed it against her forehead, feeling the lingering moisture of that last kiss. She felt the tears gather in her eyes and stain her cheeks with their salty caress, and yet these sensations were somehow less real than that imagined press of lips against skin. Nothing was more real than that final connection with the world that she had left behind.

But then there was a hand upon her shoulder, gentle yet firm in its insistent pressure as it demanded her attention and shattered the silent web that had ensnared her solemn form. Gasping raggedly, Buffy felt the rest of the world come rushing back in one colorful wave as her eyes flew open to find Legolas' beautiful face tilted before her. She had seen very little of her friend in the crushing mess that had stolen a day out of their lives, and yet his clear gaze held the same kindness that they had ever known for her - ageless in their weight and beauty. His pale, high brow was as perfect as ever, his skin flawless and his hair a golden cascade to frame his ethereal features. His lips, tinged with pink and narrowed in a soft frown, still arched in their same manner.

Everything was the same, and yet everything was different - irrevocably changed by her friends' short visit. And yet as Buffy gazed into his concerned eyes, she knew that the changes hadn't been wrought in the elf that stood before her, but rather in herself. _She_ had been changed as surely as the caterpillar that is given wings, and while her body was inescapably weak, the fire that burned within her had been rekindled. _She_ had been rekindled and she was done with being the Power That Be's puppet. She was done being their victim or even a victim of her fate. From here on in, she was going to be the one in control of her own destiny.

Flashing the elf a reassuring smile, Buffy glanced down at her clenched fist, forcing the hand open to reveal smooth, unblemished skin beneath. Magic without lingering consequences - the kind she liked best. Bending down, she reached for the straps to the duffel, only to have Legolas lift the handles before she could even try. Straightening, she smiled her thanks and slowly followed him back to a table that was drenched in silence, every eye once more lingering upon her slight frame. Not that it mattered anymore.

Sliding into her hard-backed chair with a soft sigh of relief, the slayer stretched her weakened limbs before turning towards the head of the table, dutifully ignoring the four empty seats that were arranged around her. "Where were we?" she asked, her voice strong and clear as she rested both hands upon the table, her eyes locked on Aragorn's shadowed features. For a moment more the silence lingered as Legolas reclaimed his seat, his eyes darting briefly towards her before Aragorn cleared his throat and continued.

Business resumed as usual as the councilors and lords, tentatively at first, renewed their discussions and plans for the upcoming battle that was to be waged. Alone at her end of the table, Buffy followed the conversation with rapt attention, her hands folded serenely in the lap of her beautiful blue gown. Yet beneath the table, one slippered foot slowly slipped back and caught the edge of the black duffel, easing it forward across the smooth stone floor until the full bag was nestled against her feet - the final reminder of a home that was no longer and would never again be her own.

* * *

The door closed with a resounding finality that echoed all the way down to the tips of her tingling toes, soft motes of dust, stirred by the sudden draft, twirling and dancing in the late afternoon sunlight. Buffy slowly settled on the edge of the massive bed, her fingers idly plucking at the thick blankets as her eyes flitted from the gleaming dark, polished wooden furniture to the white stone walls that were softened with long banners. The room was spotless and elegant, beautifully decorated and well lit by floor to ceiling windows that took up an entire wall and which led onto a long stone balcony that overlooked a small winter garden. There were only two doors: one which led into the wide, lushly decorated hall beyond, and the other which opened into a small bathing chamber that was outfitted with a massive clawfoot tub and a beautifully gilded mirror that had shown her pale face and dark-rimmed eyes with stunning clarity. A clarity that was impossible to ignore.

The council had adjourned a short time past, and yet even as the men clambered from their seats, Buffy had remained slouched on that hard wooden chair, lost to her troubled thoughts. Her friends were gone now for all time, and yet it wasn't this understanding that had captivated her for the last half of the long council, for that was a realization for another time when the pain would become real and the adjustment to a life without them would start again. No, what left her slouched upon the straight lines of the uncomfortable chair was the sudden understanding that the war that was about to be waged was going to go down in a few hours. In a few hours time, Gondor would march against the Dark-Elves that her blood had created... and she was in no condition to participate.

Scowling at her clasped hands, she had ignored the tremors of her aching body as she rubbed her ankle against the black duffel that rested between her slippered feet. This, more than any other battle she had ever waged, was her fight. This was her battle. And yet this battle wasn't going to wait for her to heal. It wasn't going to wait for her to return to full strength or even strength enough to lift a sword. This battle- no, this _war_ was going to happen tonight - and she was going to be powerless to participate. And at that moment, that thought had made her wish that she had decked Whistler when she had the chance.

Buffy flopped back upon the massive bed, her eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the canopy above. Legolas had come for her once the council had ended, with Aragorn and Arwen at his side, to deliver her into the elf-Queen's hands so that she could be escorted to her new chambers.

Her new chambers.

Snorting softly, Buffy slowly shook her head. Legolas had pointed out that she couldn't very well remain in the Houses of Healing until the end of her days, but to be given rooms in the King's Palace? In the seventh and most heavily protected circle of Gondor's capital? Her pessimistic side, the part which had been cultivated during her months of captivity, snidely whispered that such a kind gesture had been given less as a sign of friendship and more as a way to keep her close and out of trouble. Or perhaps both, she decided as she rolled onto her side, her blue gown pillowing beneath her.

_"This world is your home now," Aragorn stated, his solemn features softening into a small smile. "As you are of the race of Men, you will always have a place in Minas Tirith."_

Her home. This strange place was now to be her home.

Buffy quickly sat up, her voluminous sleeves pooling at her sides as she scooted into the middle of the bed and pulled the black duffel before her. A servant had carried the bag for her as Arwen led her from the Citadel and into the King's Halls which sat behind the massive tower - and yet Buffy had barely glanced at her impressive surroundings, for her eyes had been riveted upon the bag that remained her final, tenuous link to the home that had forsaken her.

Once more ignoring the tremors that pulsed through her weakened limbs, Buffy hastily unzipped the bag and allowed the sides to fall open to reveal a gaping black maw that was darker than the darkest night - one last trick of Willow's, no doubt. Frowning, Buffy contemplated the impossible space which swallowed the very light that arched through the grand room, before impulsively sticking her hand into the bag, watching with sick fascination as her pale appendage became devoured by the chilly dark. Reaching her questing fingers, she moved her hand in the sinister space until it bumped against something hard and unyielding. Curious, she withdrew her hand only to find a simple black VHS tape gripped in her small fist.

"What the-" she began as she turned the tape over to find a small post-it attached to the other side.

_Buffy, I finally finished the documentary of the slayer that I started just after you left!! I wanted you to have the first copy so you can show all of your friends... or if Giles and the others can't free you, you can always show it to your enemies. It's going to be a valuable record - an important document for the ages. I've decided to call it: A Slayer In Action. Catchy title, don't you think? This way the world will know about you. It's a story of ultimate triumph tainted with the bitterness for what's been lost in the struggle - namely, yourself. It's a legacy for future generations and I think it has Cannes Film Festival winner written all over it! Look out, Michael Moore! Here comes Andrew!_

_Oh yeah - and best of luck with the rescue!_

_~Andrew_

Rolling her eyes, Buffy fingered the useless tape before pushing it to the side. Apparently someone forgot to point out that if sharing tapes between countries was impossible, doing so between worlds was going to be a very remote likelihood. That and the whole lack of electricity that Middle-earth had going on.

Shrugging indifferently, Buffy turned back to the open duffel and once more stuck her hand into the murky midst. This time she snagged something that most definitely felt like a book before pulling the object free. And lo and behold, it was a book. Buffy flipped open the small, unmarked cover that was wrapped in soft suede, her mouth dropping open as she gaped at the boldly lettered title and the short message that was scrawled beneath in tightly penned script: _**Slayer Handbook** - I was told that you never received a copy - figured it was worth a laugh, at the very least. ~Wesley_

Buffy flipped through the first few pages with a soft chuckle before tossing the book aside, and eagerly reached for the bag once more. And so she continued, her hand continuously dipping into the duffel to emerge with yet another new treasure that was perfectly suited to the many quirks of her friends' vast personalities. Anya had sent a small bag of gold coins with a note insisting that when all else fails, money would get her out of any trouble that she managed to land in, and despite what others may think, it _could_ buy happiness. Kennedy had included a large canister of instant coffee to which Giles had attached a warning that she wasn't allowed to touch it until she was healthy. From Xander she received a small photo album of the gang that ranged the entire seven years they had been together - a gift that was tenderly set aside as she was reminded of the photograph of her friends that had been returned to her the day before, only to be lost in Vashnak's attack.

Angel had included the cross pendant he had given her when she was only fifteen while Robin had somehow managed to fit an entire sword into the bag - something that his mother had carried during her tenure as slayer. Even Angel's friends, some that she had never met, had added to the mix. From someone named Gunn she received a dagger, while Lorne had included a solar-powered MP3 player that boasted over 10,000 songs and which came with a note that proclaimed that music was the language of the soul. She was just relieved that she would finally be able to get that damn Ludacris song out of her head.

From Faith she had received Mr. Pointy, the treasured stake that had been given to her by Kendra before she died, while Spike had included a fifth of whiskey and a note that read: _My soul is wrapped in harsh repose, midnight descends in raven-colored clothes, but soft... behold! A sunlight beam cutting a swath of glimmering gleam. My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in it, inspired by your beauty effulgent. - Thank you for being my inspiration. I've waited over a century to finish that bit._

Yet surprisingly, it was the last three gifts that gave her the most pause. She had never met Angel's Fred - the girl that he and his friends had rescued from the dimension that she had been stranded in - but she didn't need to know her to smile at the gift of flannel pajama pants and a matching tank. Attached to the neatly folded clothes was a small note that read, _I learned while in Pylea that the happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything. They just make the most of everything that they have. I made the most of what I had, and so will you - but out of everything that I missed from home, a clean pair of pajamas were always top of the list. Maybe they have been for you, too._

Smiling at the young woman's thoughtfulness, Buffy fingered the soft folds before putting the garments to the side, her hand once more descending into the black hole that had been revealed by the opened zipper of the unassuming duffel. It was then that her questing fingers had fumbled upon something soft and squishy and covered in tufted fabric - something that she knew even before she had pulled it free of the bag's confines.

"Mr. Gordo," she whispered, tears burning her watery eyes as she crushed the familiar stuffed pig against her chest. Bending forward, she pressed her face against the pink fabric of the well-loved stuffed animal, greedily breathing in the scent of the laundry soap that her mother had always used, combined with the salty tang of someone else's tears. Dawn's tears, she realized with sudden clarity as she reluctantly pulled away, her gaze falling on the short note that was pinned to one of the pig's scruffy ears.

_You once told me to live for you. Now I tell you this: most people don't get to choose how they're going to die. Or when. They can only decide how they're going to live. Now. Make choices that we can both live with. I love you - always. ~Dawn_

Smiling through her tears, Buffy reverently traced her sister's large, loopy letters as she pondered the sort of choices that the younger Summers' would have been able to live with. Dawn would want her to fight for this world that had become her own, certainly, but she would also have wanted for her older sister to _live_ in this world. It was one thing to survive, she knew, for she had done nothing but survive in this world ever since she had arrived here - always subconsciously waiting for the chance to return, if not to her home, then at least to something familiar. Heaven, perhaps. But that was survival. It wasn't living.

Lips set in a narrow line, Buffy settled Mr. Gordo in the warm nest of her lap as she reached forward and slid her hand into the duffle for the last time. Back and forth she swept her small fingers, searching the cavernous depths for any last surprises that were to be found in the magically enlarged bag. In the end, there remained only one final gift - one final goodbye - to be found as her blunt nails scraped along the bag's bottom, catching on the lip of a thin envelope that had been overlooked until the very last.

Snagging the edge between her forefinger and thumb, Buffy pulled the small white square from the darkness and lifted it into the light, turning it back and forth as the fractured sun illuminated the single sheet of paper hidden within. Frowning, Buffy slid one finger between the sealed edges and withdrew the torn piece of notebook paper it contained - a simple scrap of paper that was littered with her watcher's flowing script.

_I have thought long and hard of what I could possibly gift you in this final moment that will see you through whatever trials you will face. In the end, I have discovered that there is nothing left to give, for you already carry everything that I am within you. Buffy, I have given you everything that I could over the years as I trained and guided you on your Chosen path to the best of my abilities. I have made mistakes - many mistakes. But such regrets are beyond us now, for what is done is done, and not even the Powers That Be can change the past. You must face the difficult task of moving on, and yet you cannot forget what came before - what made you the person that you are today. You have surpassed my every wish for you, as both a slayer and as the woman that you are still becoming. You have become someone that I will always be proud of. Someone that your mother would have cherished. Just remember what it is you fight for and you will never go astray. Nothing that is worthwhile is ever easy. Never give up when you still have something left to give, for it is never truly over until the moment that you stop trying. I love you._

Sniffling, Buffy mechanically brushed away her tears as she reread Giles' letter over and over again, committing his words to memory as she felt his warm lips pressed against her forehead anew. "I love you, too," she whispered to the ghost of her watcher as she hugged Mr. Gordo with one arm while the other hand gently placed the scrap of paper on the bed before her. "I love you, too," she repeated, her voice husky with unshed tears as she turned and looked upon her scattered gifts, only to have her teary reminiscence interrupted by a soft knock on her closed door.

Quickly scrubbing away the wet tracks that lined her pale cheeks, Buffy pushed her tired body towards the edge of the massive bed, accidentally knocking the duffel to the floor as she forced her shaky legs to carry her as swiftly as possible to the carved wood. "Hold on a sec," she called out as she fumbled with the metal lever before finally releasing the catch, pulling the heavy door open to reveal Legolas standing in the empty hall before her - a Legolas that wore stiff leather guards upon his shoulders, his twin knives holstered in his quiver of arrows, and a long, gleaming sword which was secured at his side.

Inexplicably feeling her chest tighten at the not-too-subtle reminder of the war that was about to break, Buffy held the door against her breast as she stared at her friend with solemn eyes. "What are you doing here?" she asked with a weary sigh as she leaned her forehead against the cool wood.

"I have come to say goodbye," Legolas explained, faint lines appearing in his furrowed brow. "Though perhaps I should not have come," he continued as he looked upon her wan features.

"No, I'm glad you did," Buffy hastily amended as she moved back and opened her door further, silently inviting him into the room. "I'm just feeling a bit off."

"Off?" Legolas returned as he stepped through the portal, his eyes sweeping over the lush chambers and the items scattered over her bed. "Your rooms are not to your liking?" he hazarded, turning towards her as she slowly shuffled over to a large, plump chair.

"They're great, really," Buffy assured the elf as she settled her aching frame onto the elegantly patterned cushion, one hand absently clutching Mr. Gordo in her lap. "I just..."

"What is that?" Legolas interrupted, a quizzical smile lifting his lips as he stepped gracefully around the scattered mess and knelt before her.

Blushing, Buffy held out the stuffed pig for the elf's curious inspection as he gingerly fingered the soft fabric. "This is Mr. Gordo," she explained with a fond pat on the pig's fuzzy pink head. "I've had him ever since I was a little girl and used to sleep with him every night. My sister wanted me to have him back," she added, her smile turning wistful.

"He reminds you of your home, then," Legolas surmised as he returned the small stuffed toy, his expression softening. "Does this reminder trouble you?" he continued, his voice gentle.

For a moment, Buffy was silent as she thought of the elf's question before a slow smile lifted her lips. "No, he comforts me," she whispered as she once more clutched the pig against her chest, her eyes drifting to the large windows that looked out upon the dying light of another day before falling down to glare upon her weakened, pale limbs. "This is what troubles me," she admitted as she lifted one trembling hand and glared upon the thin appendage. "I'm weak-"

"No," Legolas countered as he swiftly captured her hand in his. "You are not weak," he stated, his voice firm as she found herself trapped in his bright gaze. "I do not believe that you know how," he admitted, his lips lifting in a small smile.

"But-"

"Listen to your heart, for ever will it speak the truth," the elf counseled before lifting her hand to his lips and brushing the skin with a soft kiss - a kiss that stretched into a quiet moment that was shattered by a sound that only Legolas' sensitive ears could hear. "The army is gathering," he murmured as he distractedly released her hand, effortlessly rising from his crouch and moving towards the open door.

Frowning, Buffy remained frozen until something seemed to break within her. Jolting forward, she clutched Mr. Gordo in her lap as his name burst from her lips. "Legolas, wait!" she demanded as the elf paused on the threshold. "I... I'll see you soon," she stammered as he turned to her, a question in his blue eyes.

Smiling, he nodded in agreement. "Soon," he vowed before slipping cat-like into the hall beyond, the door closing with a soft snick in his wake.

"Soon," Buffy repeated as she slumped against the chair's back, her mind whirling with the advice of her friends and loved ones. Legolas had urged her to take counsel with her heart for it would never lead her astray. Giles told her never to give up. Dawn wanted her to truly live for them both.

_"I never realized it was possible to be anything other than what you have always been, and that which you will always be."_

Startled, Buffy thought again to owyn's casual words from earlier that morning, and in that moment she felt her mind clear as everything else melted away. At the time, she really hadn't given the White Lady's words any thought, but in a moment of clarity, Buffy suddenly understood the depth of that simple message.

She had been looking at it wrong all along.

Ever since she had been called, she had always thought of the Slayer and Buffy Summers as two different people. She had mourned the loss of the girl that she had been as the Slayer seemed to take over - a Slayer who had a destiny that was out of Buffy's control. But what she had been missing was the fact that the girl had never died. Buffy Summers and the Slayer were one and the same and there was no differentiating between the two. They had meshed until they became a seamless blend, and now Buffy Summers was the Slayer just as much as the Slayer was Buffy Summers. And while some people could argue that she wasn't in control of her own destiny, what they didn't understand was that as the Slayer, she had the power to ensure that she was nobody's puppet. It was true that she had been beaten down and defeated so many different times on this world, but she was nobody's victim. She couldn't be, for the difference between her and those like her was that she refused to stay down. She refused to stay broken or defeated. She would not be beaten.

Absently fingering the back of her hand where the skin still sizzled from Legolas' kiss, Buffy forced her weary body from the large chair and began the slow, halting walk back to the bed. The sound of the gathering army was a muffled drone that echoed at the very edges of her enhanced hearing, forcing her to distraction as she sidestepped the overturned duffel, only to have her slippered feet catch on a long thin cord and drag it free of the black bag. Pausing, Buffy grabbed a fistful of her heavy blue skirts and lifted them out of the way as she eyed the long, leather cord that was barely discernable upon the brightly patterned rug.

"Now where did you come from?" she murmured as she carefully knelt down, her weakened limbs wavering dangerously beneath her as she stretched out one hand and snagged the thin cord, gently tugging it free of the duffel's handle. Yet what came free was more than a simple cord, Buffy realized as she caught sight of the dark red stone that was woven into the thin leather, a single piece of paper taped to one side.

"Willow," she whispered, a smile brightening her features as she recognized the narrow, slanted letters that adorned the outside of the note. Quickly standing, Buffy tore the piece of paper free, her eyes scouring the neat cursive as she ambled blindly back towards the bed.

_Buffy, if you're reading this, that means that the guys succeeded and that you're free from your prison - a prison that I can't help but feel as though I helped to build for you. If it hadn't been for me, you never would have left that place in which you felt safe and warm, only to be returned to a life that hurt you. I'm the reason that you had to be sent away. It's a chain of events that I can't get past - a direct line that begins with me and ends with you in a place that only Dawn has seen. And for that I am sorry._

_Buffy, I'm sure that Giles has told you that my magic is gone. I've finally reached too far and I've paid the price. I wanted to reassure both Dawn and I that you would be fine, but instead I only gave her a glimpse of whatever hell you've been sent to - and I can't make it right. I'm no longer Super Willow, the juiced up witch who can pull a bullet from your chest and heal the damage that has been done. I'm merely Willow, the lonely, shy girl that you befriended and introduced to a world of magic, darkness, and so much light. But that simple Willow does have one saving grace, and that's the knowledge I've gained over the past seven years._

_My gift to you is this powerful charm that's both a blessing and a curse. Giles thinks that the reason why you were in such bad shape when Dawn saw you was because you were suffering from anemia. I hope he's right. The gem that I've weaved into the necklace is a garnet, a stone that's known for its blood-related healing properties. By tying the cord so that the stone hangs over your heart, the garnet will restore balance to your body by drawing away whatever toxins pollute your blood and by restoring that which your body lacks. But you must remember that this isn't a fix-all for your problems. Before I became Super-Willow I may have mentioned that Wiccan magic is all about balance; balance of the elements, balance of the body, and balance of the soul. In other words, this kind of earth magic - that which is all that is left to me - will never allow such miracles as pulling bullets from bodies without some kind of bad to counteract the good. So when the contact is broken between the stone and your body, all the good that has been done will be undone - and Buffy, that's before the bad takes over. Basically, I think it's going to make your situation worse._

_So now you must be wondering why I'm giving you a gift that comes with such a heavy cost. But then again, I think we both know the answer to that. Sometimes people do stupid things, take stupid risks, and make stupid decisions - and all because they know that in this dark world that we live in, there's no such thing as the road less traveled. There's only one road. One option. And sometimes all of those stupid things are the only way to make any headway down that road. Buffy, I want nothing more than to fix what I'm in part the cause, but I can't. The best I can do is give you this. Please be careful and use it wisely, and hopefully someday we'll meet again in whatever world comes after this. I love you._

_~Willow_

Slowly lowering the letter to the blanket beside her, Buffy gently fingered the small garnet that lay in her open palm, the long leather cords spilling over to pool in the lap of her blue gown as she contemplated the simple-looking charm.

Balance.

Why did it seem that these days, her entire life revolved around that one simple word? She needed to leave Earth in order to balance the Darkness with the Light. She needed to lose liters of blood to the orcs in Middle-earth in order to balance the Darkness with the Light. It seemed that in the Powers That Be's eyes, her entire life amounted to no more than a paperweight that could be used to balance the scales on either of the worlds for which she was now being held accountable.

Buffy glanced back at Willow's letter as she unconsciously drew Mr. Gordo into her lap, her fingertips becoming buried in the soft pink tuft as she sat in a circle of her final mementos from a home that was no longer her own. A world that had been replaced sometime in the past few months with one that was on the brink of war.

_Her_ war.

As trumpets began to sound in one of the circles below, announcing the gathering of the army of Gondor, Buffy knew what to do - something that she had known from the moment that Willow's gift had been revealed. Smiling, the slayer closed her fist around the small stone.

She had a war to get to.


	31. Chapter 31

**Equinoxium: Chapter 31  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Also, props need to be given to Peter Jackson and company for creating such awe-inspiring speeches, as well as to the writers of BtVS for doing the best they could when they had to write so many in Season 7.

* * *

His father once told him that to mortals, time and its inevitable passage were both their greatest fear and their foulest enemy. While time was but a quiet companion to elf-kind, to mortals it was a force beyond their comprehension and something they would fight to their dying day, for time was a battle that all mortals would someday lose. Yet on this day, as the sun burned away the chill of winter and brushed against the top of Mount Mindolluin, gathering dark shadows in her wake, Legolas began to realize that in this, too, his father had been mistaken. Time could turn her fickle back on immortal and mortal alike, running too slowly when haste was needed and hastening when all that was desired was just a bit more time.

Startled from his troubled thoughts as a familiar form bumped against his own lean frame, Legolas turned from the darkening skies as his old friend settled against the stable wall beside him. "I see that you have lost the battle," the elf noted, forcing a wry smile as he took in Aragorn's pinched features and the coiled tautness to the man's shoulders.

"Do not mock me, _mellon-nin_," Aragorn ground out between clenched teeth as the king of Gondor glared at the small assembly of advisors that remained gathered in a tight knot about the seventh gate. "I fear that I have not the patience this night," he muttered as he scowled at the cluster of finely dressed men.

"They seek only to keep you from harm."

"They seek to keep me from battle," Aragorn corrected with a quick shake of his head. "It is as though they have forgotten that it was I who led our army against the forces of Sauron. They say that the blood of the kings of old runs through my veins - that I am the last of my line, and as I have no heir, I am too precious to waste on such a venture. Without me they say Gondor will fall and that it is a risk that our country can ill afford."

"And they are right in this," Legolas cut in as he turned towards his friend, his blue eyes capturing the king in his ageless gaze. "Aragorn, your fate is linked with that of Gondor and the battle ahead is too uncertain. Besides," he added with a small, knowing smile, "your men love you too much. Were you to battle at their side, they would focus more on you and your safety than on their opponent. Your presence on the field of battle would only distract them. Have faith in your people and allow Faramir to lead them in your stead, as his station demands."

Aragorn ran a tired hand through his long hair, mussing it even further as his eyes darted back to where the army of Gondor made their final preparations. "I see the logic in your words, I do," he distractedly reassured his friend, "but my heart rails against such logic that refuses to allow a king to battle for his people. Did not your father and grandfather both go to war in the Last Alliance?"

"Yes," Legolas agreed, his smile dimming as he, too, turned to survey the frantic preparations. He watched as the group of men parted to allow Gimli passage through the congested road, the dwarf dressed in his gleaming armor with his throwing axe in hand. "Yes, they did. And my grandfather died there," the elf continued, his voice growing soft as he watched the dwarf confer with Faramir before turning to where the twin sons of Elrond were waiting.

"But elves are different than men," the fair-haired elf continued with a small shrug as he forcibly shook free of the melancholy that had so briefly taken hold. "My people overcame our loss, but I fear Gondor would flounder and fall without you," he stated firmly as he turned to find his friend watching him with shadowed eyes. "Aragorn, you are the reason that Gondor exists and this country will not survive again without her king," he explained, referring to the many hundreds of years that the country had staggered on under the rule of the stewards.

Yet whatever response his friend might have given was forgotten as the gathered army fell beneath a stifled hush, all eyes turning towards the opening that led to the seventh gate. Features tightening, Legolas watched as the men slowly parted, giving a wide berth to the solitary form that wended its way through the milling soldiers.

"Now what?" Aragorn sighed as he pushed away from the wall, his cape billowing about him as the bitter winter wind snatched at the expensive fabric and tangled it around his tall form. Cursing, the king of Gondor struggled with the heavy material for a few moments before he finally cast the long cloak aside, his dark head lifting just as the figure finally stepped clear of the soldiers and paused before both man and elf.

"Buffy," Legolas murmured as he stepped to Aragorn's side, his wide eyes sweeping over the short blonde that stood confidently before them. Gone was the wasted creature that the proud slayer had become over months of abuse and maltreatment, and in her place stood a figure of power and strength. Shaking his head in disbelief, Legolas took note of Buffy's familiar tan leather clothing that hugged her small curves and dipped scandalously low over her pale breasts - no doubt the cause of many of the whispers that filled the sixth circle. And yet what held the elf's unwavering attention was the long, beautifully crafted sword that was strapped over her long leather duster and the gleaming dagger that was belted to her low slung pants.

Somehow Buffy had managed to restore herself to her former power and glory in the brief hour since they had parted, and from the predatory gleam in her eye, Legolas understood one thing all too clearly: the slayer was back and ready for retribution.

* * *

Keeping her chin held high, Buffy stilled a few feet from Legolas and Aragorn as she felt the gazes of the gathered soldiers burn into her from all sides. Filled with tension, she clenched one hand into a fist, feeling the familiar strength course through her veins as she resisted the urge to fidget beneath so many watchful eyes. There was too much riding on this moment, and the slayer knew that now, more than ever, appearances were everything.

"Alright Cinderella, this is your ball," she muttered to herself as she slowly relaxed her hand. "Let's do this," she added as she continued towards the elf and king, her long leather duster flapping in the frigid winter breeze. With long, even strides that echoed with each tap of her booted heel against the stone road, Buffy finished the short distance and stopped before the two friends, her eyes darting briefly to Legolas' shining blue gaze before determinately turning towards the King of Gondor.

"But... how is this possible?" Aragorn demanded, staring at her in frank astonishment.

"It's called magic," Buffy supplied as she forced an indifferent shrug, resisting the urge to touch the red stone that burned against her chest. She understood the consequences of her actions - that by wearing the stone when she was so weak, she was probably doing more damage to an already battered body - and yet this realization hadn't stopped her from tying the cord around her neck so that the stone could lie beneath her leather halter and between the pale flesh of her breasts. First came heat. Then came pain. Finally there came a power that she well remembered and which buried the pain, dulling the sharp edges until only the heat remained.

"But... how-" the king began again, his sharp eyes raking over her frame as though he could somehow find lingering evidence of this magic.

"Let's worry about the how some other time and just move onto the part where I'm all better and ready to take part in the ass-kicking," Buffy broke in with a tight smile, wishing she had some kind of theme music to help smooth over the edges of what was supposed to be a victorious moment. The strength was back and Buffy should have felt more like herself than ever before, but the three months spent as Vashnak's prisoner had marked her and the easy confidence was more mask than reality.

"But where are the men that I ordered to guard you?" Aragorn continued as he turned his pinched features back towards the arch that led to the seventh gate of his city.

"Guards?" Buffy asked, an innocent smile locked in place. "For me?"

"Yes, for you," the king growled as he scowled down upon the petite blonde. "They were posted outside your doorway to ensure that no other trespasses were made against you."

Schooling her features, Buffy nodded as she twined her hands before her. "Well that would be the problem," she admitted as the king arched his brow expectantly. "I went out the window," she continued after a pregnant pause.

The king's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Your room is on the third floor," he stated, his voice flat as Buffy hazarded a glance at Legolas, relieved to see the elf's lips twitch in guarded amusement.

"Yes, it is," Buffy agreed as she returned her attention to the tall man that towered over her. "And my windows overlook this amazing garden that happens to sit right next to the big wall that encircles your palace. So I figured, why bother zigzagging all over the place when you guys were just a hop, skip and a jump away?" she asked as she flashed him a brilliant smile that belied the anxiety that kept her muscles taut beneath the worn leather.

"A hop, skip and a jump?" Legolas parroted, a small hint of warmth coloring his neutral words.

"Well, more like a conveniently placed tree and some feather-monkey-like skills," she amended as she glanced briefly at the tall elf, praying that her forced levity would somehow mask from the intuitive creature the uncertainty that continued to plague her even now. It had been far too long since she had last played this game - a game in which she had once excelled - and Buffy knew that she was rusty. But the lessons that she had learned over the years were lessons that were impossible to forget - no matter how much time had passed since those relatively carefree days when she had been surrounded by her friends and family. Above all else came levity in the face of the the darkness that she faced - for without levity, life would fall upon her and crush her under its impossible weight.

"Besides, I heard the army was-a-gathering and I didn't want to miss the show," she added with a fond pat to the dagger that was sheathed to her side. "My friends left me with some new weapons that are just begging to get their game on."

"Get their game on?" Aragorn repeated, fine lines of confusion creasing his forehead before he visibly shook off her strange turn-phrases. "It matters not," he stated, his voice growing firm, "for you will not be fighting in this battle."

"And why not?" Buffy demanded as she unconsciously straightened beneath his outright dismissal. She had been expecting such a reaction, and truth be told, her entire jaunt through the garden and over the huge stone wall had been a way of putting off this very same confrontation as long as humanly possible. And yet that didn't stop the righteous anger from drawing her up even further. "This is my fight just as much as it is yours," she stated, resisting the urge to defiantly cross her arms over her chest in an appeal that would have been far too reminiscent of Dawn when she wasn't getting what she wanted. "Maybe more," she added with a dark scowl. "I was the one who bled for them for two months!"

"Which is precisely why you are not going," Aragorn stated, bristling beneath her continued arguments. "You heard me in the council. We cannot allow you to fall into their hands again."

"And I won't," Buffy interrupted with a stubborn shake of her head, her eyes boring into his own as the rest of the world fell away. "I would die first," she vowed with the full conviction of a warrior who had been fighting this fight for far too long.

"You cannot guarantee that," Aragorn countered with stiff finality as he turned from her, his gaze lifting to the soldiers that milled about in hushed silence. "Where is Faramir? I need someone to escort the Lady back to her chambers."

Floored by her abrupt dismissal, Buffy floundered for the briefest of moments before her anger surged back to the forefront. "You don't think I can take care of myself?" she demanded as she reached over one shoulder and pulled her sword free, the scratch of metal against leather alerting Aragorn of the threat he had so easily overlooked.

Whirling to face her, the king tore his own blade free of its sheath as the man reacted instinctively to her actions, even as Legolas' eyes burned into her slight frame. Ignoring her elven friend, the slayer effortlessly lifted her beautiful blade as her eyes met Aragorn's, steely determination warring against surprised disbelief. Pausing long enough to show that she wouldn't back down from this, Buffy stepped forward, bringing the sword to bear, and allowed instinct to take over.

What followed next was an intricate dance in which metal clashed with metal, sparks flying as her conscious mind slipped back and allowed her feet to do the work. With the grace of the Eldar she sidestepped his parries and thwarted his thrusts, admiring his evident skill with the blade even as she countered his experience with the sure-footedness and swiftness of the slayer. It didn't matter that her hand hadn't held the pommel of a sword in over two months, for it still remembered the comforting weight just as her body could never forget the rush that came with battle.

Around her she was peripherally aware of the cry of alarm that was raised among the Gondorian soldiers as the men drew their weapons, only to fall back with the realization that both she and their king moved far too swiftly to allow aid. Any misstep could spell the death of the king that they treasured. Which was exactly the sort of indecision that Buffy had been counting on.

Eyes narrowing, the small blonde lifted her sword to block a downward sweep that was driven more by Aragorn's instinctual need to bring down his attacker than by any ill will that he may have harbored towards her. He was good - probably the best that she had ever fought - but Buffy was better if for the simple fact that she had supernatural slayerness on her side. Well, that and the understanding that this little demonstration was her only ticket onto the battle field.

Pushing forward, Buffy forced Aragorn to step back as their blades once more crashed against one another, the scream of tortured steel causing the man to wince as she put her renewed strength to the test. Inch by inch the king was forced to concede ground to her blade until, with one final push, Buffy knocked his sword aside, upsetting his balance enough that the taller man tumbled back onto the hard pavement, her sword lodged against his neck.

"Or was Vashnak right?" she asked calmly as Aragorn panted before her, his mortal limits straining against the same boundaries that she had just surged past. "Have I really just traded one captor for another?" she demanded, her eyes burning into his as she slowly drew back her weapon and returned it to its sheath. Reaching forward, she then extended one small, pale hand towards the downed king as the silence stretched in the sixth circle, with only the faintest echoes of voices extending from the unwitting citizens above and below.

For a moment, Aragorn merely eyed her extended hand before he encased her small fingers within his own. Releasing a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding, Buffy quickly pulled the tall man to his feet before stepping back.

Aragorn released her hand, but not her gaze as he straightened and looked at her with his deep gray eyes. For several long moments he simply stared at her, as if attempting to probe the recesses of her soul, and Buffy's breath caught anew under the power of the King's gaze. She raised her chin, meeting him squarely, and then he released her, nodding as he withdrew. "No, you will find no captor in this city," he stated. "As I have already told you, this world is your home now, and as you are of the race of Men, you will always have a place here in Minas Tirith. A king of Gondor shall not fall back on his word, and nor shall he imprison those who are undeserving of the chains that bind them." He paused, regarding her once again as he slid his weapon into its sheath. "There is much I wish to learn about you, Buffy. Should we both survive this night, we will talk."

Eyes slipping shut, Buffy felt one of many small weights lift from her overburdened shoulders as a slow smile lifted her lips. While Gondor wasn't exactly the Land of the Free, it seemed that this new place was willing to extend her the same liberties that she had known all her life. Features breaking into a broad smile, Buffy impulsively reached forward and crushed Aragorn against her in a tight hug. "I'll take that as a go get 'em, partner," she whispered as she stepped back with an impish grin.

Frowning stiffly, Aragorn casually readjusted his rumpled clothing as he inclined his head slightly towards her. "As you will," he relented before turning and making his way through the gathered soldiers - all of whom suddenly found something to occupy their attention.

"So you will join us in battle."

"So it seems," Buffy agreed as she turned to acknowledge the elf who stood quietly beside her.

"A fitting choice," Legolas stated as his eyes met her own in a way that left her feeling as though all of her secrets were no longer her own. It was as though with that simple glance the fair-haired elf was able to look past the many shields that she had learned to erect over the years and see past the false image that she portrayed and the strength that she now possessed in order to see the hurt and the fear that still burned within her heart. "Or perhaps a forgone conclusion," he mused, his soft words belying the hurt that shone in his blue eyes.

With a sigh Buffy realized that he thought she had planned this move and had purposely left him in the dark. Lifting a hand, she fingered the leather cords that were tied so securely around her neck. "No, just a recent development," she murmured, her eyes drifting down to the stone that was hidden beneath her leather halter. But her look hadn't gone unnoticed, and as Legolas' pale fingers reached toward her and danced lightly over where the stone was concealed, she found her eyes lifting to meet his troubled gaze.

"There is danger in this magic," he stated, causing Buffy to wonder whether the elf was picking up on her unspoken words or on some other sense that went beyond simple explanations. Could he sense the magic at work and the toll that it would ultimately demand?

"There's danger everywhere," Buffy corrected as she captured his hand in her own strong grip, squeezing it gently before releasing it with a small smile. "And I promise that when things slow down, we'll talk details - details about this and about... about what I did," she continued, forcing the words past the lump in her throat as she purposely avoided meeting his gaze. "But for now, you'll just have to go with me here."

"Go with you where?" Legolas returned, obviously allowing the matter to drop for now as his brow arched in confusion.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Buffy was about to break into yet another explanation of her strange phrases when she caught the glimmer in his blue eyes. Lips twisting in a scowl she smacked the tall elf on the arm. "Faker," she accused before turning away from her friend to survey the frantic activity that once more consumed the Gondorian army.

And this was indeed an army.

Quietly she watched as tall, grim-faced men prepared horses, tested weapons, and assembled into different groups and units. It was strange, for just a few months ago Buffy had called herself the general of her army of Potential Slayers. Until this moment, she had no idea how ridiculous that idea truly seemed. Back in Sunnydale she had been leading nothing more than a group of twenty or thirty young girls that had, at best, a few years in combat training - and that was against the First Evil and its minions. Here in Gondor, Aragorn's army consisted of hundreds of thousands of men that were hardened by previous battle experience and prepared for the war that they had no choice but to fight - a war that would decide this world's fate.

"There may still be time to find some armor for you," Legolas stated, interrupting her thoughts, but she waved airily at his suggestion.

"Somehow I doubt they have it in my color," she muttered distractedly, watching as Gimli pushed through the crowd of men in glistening chain mail that clanked with every heavy step, the twin sons of Elrond at his side. For a moment she caught Elladan's eye, the elder twin holding her gaze before a slow, gentle smile lifted his lips, and while it wasn't the heart-to-heart that she had imagined, Buffy couldn't help but be warmed by this small gesture. Perhaps all friendships hadn't been lost after all when the truth of her blood had been revealed. "Besides," she continued with a ghost of a smile, "slayers don't wear armor. We do battle in whatever suits us most. In my case, that usually includes something trendy. Back home, even if I were fighting an entire army of uber-vamps, I still would've worn one of my cutest outfits and a pair of my favorite stiletto heels, carrying only one weapon to see me through the fight," she admitted with a wistful sigh, allowing a brief moment to savor the ache that any thought of home always brought.

"Perhaps battle is different in your world," Legolas conceded with a small frown, "but in our world armor is meant less for appearances and more for saving your life. Or perhaps you take not this battle as seriously as-"

"Oh no, I'm definitely down with the seriousness of the situation," Buffy interrupted as she turned back to the blond elf, her expression falling into a hardened mask that quickly fractured beneath an impish smile. "I mean, not only am I wearing my 'come get me' leathers, but I'm carrying not one, but _three_ weapons to battle," she pointed out as she waved to her sword, her dagger, and then slid Mr. Pointy out from where it had been tucked into the back waistband of her leather pants.

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Legolas asked as he nodded towards the sharpened piece of wood that shone with its own gloss, a dubious expression on his fair features.

"This is Mr. Pointy - my favorite stake and a gift from Kendra, my successor," she explained as she dropped the weapon into the elf's outstretched hand.

Frowning, the archer tentatively held the sharpened weapon before returning it to its master. "And what do you plan to do with it?"

"Well, stake the bad guys, of course," Buffy stated as she returned the weapon to the small of her back - enjoying the familiar feel of the wood pressed so intimately against her skin.

"But to use such a weapon would require a close proximity to your enemy," Legolas pointed out as he waved to the bow that hung over one shoulder. "Archery, however, allows greater distance and maneuverability in a fight."

"True - but I like it close," Buffy returned with a feral grin. "Besides, I've got moves that you can't even begin to imagine," she continued, the words leaving her mouth a second before her brain had a chance to fully explore the full ramifications of her boasts. "And suddenly realizing that I'm channeling just a little too much Faith at the moment," she muttered as Legolas looked upon her in amusement.

"My Lady?"

Turning at the hesitant tap upon her shoulder, Buffy found a young boy and two very large horses standing behind her. "Uh... yeah?" she asked, her eyes warily lifting to the horse that snorted and pulled at the lead that was clutched in the boy's small hand even as the kid passed the other off to Legolas.

"I have brought you a horse, my Lady," the boy explained as he extended the remaining lead towards her.

"Uh..."

"The Lady shall be riding with me."

"Yeah, what he said," Buffy quickly agreed as she turned to find Legolas already mounted upon a familiar dark gray horse. "Drlum to the rescue," she whispered in relief as she slid her hand in Legolas' and allowed him to pull her onto the horse behind him.

It was a perch that she remembered well as Buffy looped her hands around Legolas' slender waist, her legs shifting until she found that comfortable place that she had long occupied on their journey south, so many months before this. "Thanks," Buffy muttered gratefully as the confused boy shrugged and led the large horse away.

"Think nothing of it," Legolas returned with a small smile as he gently patted the horse's silken hair. "I am merely doing Drlum a favor. Were it not for you, his load would have been far more cumbersome," he explained as he nodded towards the stable.

Turning in the direction indicated, Buffy watched as Elladan struggled to push Gimli, laden in heavy chain mail, onto his tall horse, much to the other twin's evident amusement. "I see," she laughed, the sound obviously gaining Elrohir's attention as he urged his horse towards them.

"Buffy, Legolas," the dark-haired elf greeted with a quick nod. "Elladan asked that I relay the message that should his horse become injured due to his... laborious load, there shall be dire consequences."

Grinning broadly at the younger twin, Legolas turned back as Gimli let loose a particularly vulgar string of dwarven curses as the stout warrior was nearly unseated by the large horse. "Elrohir, are you saying then that your brother's horse is somehow unfit to bear a burden that my own has carried on many the occasion?"

"I am saying no such thing," Elrohir countered with a sniff of disdain. "I merely counter that-"

"He's just trying to cover for his own horse," Buffy cut in with a teasing smile. "I'm guessing that Elladan lost the coin toss and Elrohir doesn't want to look bad 'cause he's the only one without a battle buddy."

"Battle buddy?" Elrohir queried as Elladan and Gimli finally made their way over to the trio.

Yet whatever response she may have given was forgotten as Aragorn, now standing upon the ramparts of the seventh gate, looked down upon his gathered army. "Sons of Gondor," he began, his deep voice ringing out over the sixth circle as his men looked upon him with fear-darkened and somber eyes. "Nine long years have we reveled in the peace that was bought with the blood of our brothers and fathers. Nine long years in which the dark stains of Mordor have lightened in our memories until they were naught but shadows that danced in the corners of the brightest rooms. Nine years have we pushed the darkness from our minds... and this night the fell shadows return to threaten that which we all hold dear."

Whistling softly, Buffy gently nudged Legolas as she leaned closer to the elf's suede-covered back. "He's good," she whispered, watching as the brisk winter wind ruffled Aragorn's dark curls, catching his long robes and twisting them around his tall frame. "Did he take a class for this? You know, Motivational Speech-Giving 101?" she quipped as Legolas turned so that his pale face was profiled in the weakened light.

"He is a King of Men," the elf returned, as though that simple fact was explanation enough.

"Ah - so it's in the genes," Buffy nodded sagely as she tried to focus back on the speech, only to have her attention catch on Faramir as he moved his horse towards the front of the gathered army. Frowning, she looked back and forth between the steward's glistening armor and Aragorn, registering the fact that the king wore none, and she once more elbowed her riding companion. "Hey - why isn't Aragorn wearing the spiffy armor?" she hissed, ignoring Elladan's muttering about annoyingly loud humans.

"Because he goes not into battle this night," Legolas explained patiently as he ran a hand through Drlum's dark mane.

"He goes not... huh?" Buffy fired back, forgetting to whisper as a few more angry looks were thrown in her direction. "He's not going to fight?"

Lifting a finger to his lips to indicate the need for quiet, the elf slowly nodded his head. "It would not be wise for both the King and the Steward of Gondor to participate in this battle, for should something happen to them both, the country would be without a ruler. Thus, the King shall remain while the Steward leads the men to war in his stead."

Buffy lifted her eyes to Aragorn's serious countenance as the man continued to drone on about this and that. "Oh yeah, I bet Aragorn's just _loving_ this," she whispered, catching the man's eyes for the briefest of moments before he turned his dark orbs to the men that adored him.

"Yes, well I imagine that it is times like these that cause Aragorn to long for the days when he was no more than a mere ranger," Legolas conceded with a dry smile before he lifted his finger to his lips in that universal sign for quiet before pointedly directing her attention back to the man of the hour.

"Nine years past, on the blood-stained fields of Pelennor, Sauron learned of the might and courage of men when we stood by our friends and held tight to the bonds of fellowship. Nine years past, in an hour of wolves and shattered shields, the age of men pulsed with a new strength as we fought for all that we hold dear on this good Earth: our families, our homes, and our peace. We-"

Buffy found her attention drifting as she began tapping an odd rhythm on Drlum's flank. She had been given an hour to prepare for battle, and during that time she had made use of Lorne's gift to help pass the time. Thus, it was no wonder why she now had Justin Timberlake's newest song bopping in her head. Frowning, she couldn't decide which was worse: Ludacris or Justin Timberlake. Either seemed an ill choice, especially when preparing for battle.

Turning back, she saw that Aragorn was _still_ speechifying and she couldn't help her groan of utter boredom. She certainly hoped that all of her speeches to the potentials that last year hadn't been _this_ long. Though she did have to give the man credit: he certainly did know how to bolster the troops. How did hers go again?

_"The odds are against us. Time is against us. And some of us will die in this battle. Decide now that it's not going to be you."_

Oh yeah - she was a real motivator. But slayers weren't made to give speeches. If anything, her whole last year in Sunnydale was probably a real blip on the slayer radar. She had already broken so many rules by keeping her friends in the know about her slayer activities, and especially by coming to depend on their help in tricky situations. It was because of them that she hadn't ended up dead... well, more than she already had. But leading an army of potential slayers? From everything she had heard, that move was definitely a first in the history of slayers, and probably something that was never meant to be. As a slayer, she was her own army. There was only ever meant to be one, and thus it was no small leap of the imagination to understand that slayers were meant to stand alone.

"Sometimes you have to stand alone to make sure you still can."

Startled, Buffy turned to find Legolas' serious blue eyes locked upon her own, making her realize that she had said that last part out loud.

"Then again, to be alone means never having someone there to help you when you have fallen," he continued, his smile soft as the men around them began cheering and chanting Elessar, Aragorn's kingly name, thereby marking the end of their king's speech.

"I'll remember that," Buffy vowed as trumpets sounded, announcing the march of the army of Gondor.

Immediately Legolas maneuvered his horse next to those of the twins, and the three elves moved to the forefront until they were positioned alongside Faramir's white steed. Arms circled loosely around Legolas' waist, Buffy watched as the citizens of Gondor waved and cheered for their brave knights and soldiers from open windows, doorways, and beautifully wrought stone balconies. All along the road that wound through the many circles of Minas Tirith and to the main gates to the city, the people of Gondor's capital city crowded along sidewalks and storefronts, their voices raised in cheer and fair wishes to the warriors that were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to see them safe. Among them the slayer saw many faces marked with tears - those who were sending a loved one to battle this night, as well as those who had already lost someone to wars that had been won at the price of their blood. She also saw faces that were streaked with dirt - these were the faces of the refugees whose homes had been destroyed by the _Mornedhel_ the night before.

These were the people for whom she now fought, Buffy realized as she caught and held the eyes of a young child who was trapped within his mother's desperate embrace. These were the people that would pay the price of her failure - and this time, these people knew about the battle being waged and instead of turning from it in fear, they turned towards the battle line, determined to show their support whether it be to their victory or their defeat.

Smiling grimly, Buffy turned from the cheering citizens and towards the opening gate that revealed the vast Pelennor Fields - and felt her blood turn to ice as her sharp sight took note of what few others could see from such a distance. Vashnak had come with the army that her blood had created, and it was an army that was a massive line of darkness in the grayish hue of twilight... a black wave that even now began to roll towards them as the army of Gondor pushed through the bottleneck of the main gate to spread into a line that glittered with the etchings of the White Tree of Gondor. Narrowing her eyes, she watched as a single black horse broke free of the approaching line to ride forward before stopping halfway between the two massed armies.

"Vashnak," she whispered as the heat spread from the stone that rested around her neck to encompass her entire body. Soon it was as though her very blood was boiling beneath the meager trappings of her pale skin, as though it somehow understood that this was the vile creature who was responsible for the weakness that was overcome by the strong magic that seared from the small stone.

Scowling, she watched as Faramir broke from the line of approaching soldiers to ride out to meet the dark-elf and deliver the news that their ultimatum was to be refused. She wished that she could be that person, that she could be the one riding out there, not only to refuse their terms but to cut the bastard's head from his shoulders before he even had a chance to cry out.

No, that wasn't true.

Maybe she would let him cry out first, if only to treasure his screams. He had haunted her nightmares for so many months now, hurting her and pushing her down when she was too weak to fight. But she wasn't weak anymore. Far from it.

With a grim smile, Buffy realized that it was finally time for Vashnak to see what it really meant to take on the Slayer.


	32. Chapter 32

**Equinoxium: Chapter 32  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

"I wish we could hear what was being said."

"Shhhh!"

"Hrumph! I merely-"

"_Shhhh!_"

"_You_ can hear what they are saying!"

"Not if you do not cease in your prattling!"

"I will cease in my prattling when you-"

"If you guys both don't shut up, _none_ of us will be able to hear what they're saying!" Buffy hissed from her mounted position behind Legolas as she turned to glare at Elladan and Gimli, the elf and dwarf flushing at her rebuke as a tense silence fell.

The sun had disappeared behind Mount Mindolluin minutes ago and the world was now bathed in shadows, the darkness broken only by the brightly lit torches the men carried as well as the full moon that gleamed amongst a star-dappled sky. Before them the Pelennor Fields stretched forward in a winter-brushed sea of deadened grasses, with naught but an occasional prickled scrub to break the flat plane.

"I merely wish to know what is being said," Gimli grumbled again, his gruff voice breaking the muted hush as he shifted indignantly on the back of Elladan's grand stallion.

Sighing in irritation, Buffy flicked her eyes towards the impatient dwarf before turning back to where Faramir met alone with Vashnak between the two opposing armies, leaning to the side to look around Legolas' tall shoulder. "Faramir just finished telling him that there isn't gonna be a trade," she whispered as she strained her sensitive hearing to the conversation being spoken hundreds of yards away. "Vashnak is calling us all fools, and Faramir is trying to negotiate another deal.... Now Vashnak is saying something about Faramir's mother and... oh," Buffy broke off with a startled pause. "Faramir basically told Vashnak to screw himself," she explained, her lips quirking into a crooked grin as the steward yanked on his horse's reins, directing the steed back towards the relative safety of the waiting army. Yet the steward's horse hadn't moved more than a few paces before Vashnak called out one final retort - a retort that caused Buffy to turn to the others in confusion.

"Did Vashnak just say something about presents?" she asked, faint lines of worry creasing her brow. "Because presents from mortal enemies generally suck beyond the telling," she murmured as a new horse nosed his way past the line of soldiers that stood behind her, causing the slayer to groan as her eyes took note of the new arrival.

"Short of their immediate departure, there is little else that we would want from these creatures."

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Buffy blew out a silent breath of air as she reluctantly acknowledged the tall, dark-haired elf that moved Andrann between Drlum and Elladan's steed. "Thoron," she greeted dully as she nodded to the advisor. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to make it," she added, not bothering to mask her disappointment. Everything had happened so fast that Buffy hadn't even noticed the elf's absence until now; though his tardy appearance and the way that Legolas avoided his advisor's pointed gaze was more than enough for Buffy to have a fair idea what kept the older elf from his ward's side. "Did you have a hair crisis that needed seeing to?" she asked with mock sympathy as she eyed the perfectly braided cords that held his long brown hair free of his pale features.

"Not likely," Thoron returned as he arched one elegantly shaped eyebrow in a manner that was steeped in condescension. "I was merely delayed by my search for Andrann," the elf continued as his eyes darted towards his prince.

"So... you lost your horse?" Buffy asked in her sweetest voice as, grinning cheekily, she looked back and forth between prince and advisor.

"Of course not," Thoron returned as he lashed her with a dark glare. "One cannot lose one's horse when one's horse has been purposely led astray."

"So... someone else lost your horse?" Buffy questioned innocently, much to her growing amusement. "So where did you find your-"

"_No!_"

Startled by Legolas' pained whisper, Buffy felt his lithe body tense before her as she followed his gaze towards the dark army that was spread before them. "What?" she demanded as she leaned to the side, desperately straining her slayer-sharp vision - and suddenly wishing that she hadn't. In that moment, everything slowed down as she watched Vashnak wave some of his orc-brethren forward, a single limp figure held roughly in-between - a limp figure that even she recognized at first glance, no matter how impossible it seemed.

"_Mirdan,_" Legolas gasped in the same moment that the pitiful creature lifted his dark head, a wave of knotted brown hair parting to reveal the bloodied, swollen and dirt-smeared face of the gentle elf that had accompanied them south so many months before.

He looked horrible, his skin so torn and bruised that he seemed drenched in filth and blood. Yet worse, perhaps, were the tattered rags that clothed him, allowing the slayer no doubts as to what the elf had been forced to endure these past days. But had it really only been days since news of Mirdan's death had reached them? Frozen upon the back of Legolas' horse, Buffy felt as if her entire world was shifting with this one moment. How could mere days have passed since Vashnak had taunted her and Legolas with Mirdan's fate in the gardens of the Houses of Healing? Had it truly been only a few days since she had been so beaten and when the world had spun out of control? Had so little time really passed since she had seemingly betrayed Legolas by forcing her blood upon him and as she had watched his friends tend to his bloody wounds upon the winter-swept grounds? They had thought Mirdan dead, had grieved for the dark-haired elf, and yet he had been alive all this time - a captive of the orcs and the dark-elves that had attacked his small party.

Mirdan was alive.

"No, my lord," Thoron hissed as he angled Andrann before Drlum, one of the elf's strong hands reaching forward to grip the prince's quivering arm and force the younger elf to lower the arrow that he had pulled and nocked against the taut string in one swift breath. "We are too distant - even for you," he explained as Buffy struggled with that same realization. Even if she leapt from Drlum's back and ran with all of the swiftness of the slayer legacy with which she had been endowed, she would still be too late to prevent the murder that they had foolishly believed to already have taken place.

Fingers digging into Legolas' arm, Buffy leaned against his taut back as she watched Vashnak force Mirdan's battered body to his knees before him, a leering orc to either side. "No," she whispered, the word a soft denial as the dark-elf lifted his curved sword, Mirdan's shadowed gaze lifting at the same moment to lock with those of his watching friends. There was no point to this brutal act - no advantage to be gained by this public slaying - and it was this fact that caused Buffy's heart to be torn between anger and horror as she remained helpless before this final cruelty.

"_Brierend_," Mirdan whispered, the name of Legolas' fallen brother, the former crown prince of Mirkwood and the wood-elf's closest friend, said as a simple, fervent prayer as Vashnak's blade fell in a gleaming arc, beheading the downed elf in a spray of bright blood and sending his dark head tumbling in a curtained arc to the pitted ground before them.

Feeling her breath catch in her throat, Buffy clutched one hand around the garnet as it burned against her skin hotter than ever. Unable to turn away, she watched as one orc lifted Mirdan's head by his lank hair and displayed it to his cheering comrades, the elf's broken body lying in a crumpled heap at his feet.

Yet while the enemy gave voice to their pleasure, the army of Gondor remained silent in their grief.

"May your beloved prince and Lord Mandos himself welcome you to his great halls," Elrohir whispered as he and the other elves lowered their eyes in respect to the fallen.

Buffy swallowed painfully as she loosened her claw-like grip on Legolas' stiff shoulders and the stone that throbbed against her skin, allowing a single moment of silence for the elf that she had already mourned before her fingers arched back to grip the leather pommel of the sword that had been gifted to her from her friends, pulling the blade free with the scrape of metal on leather.

With a roar, orcs and dark elves alike broke free of their lined formation and charged towards the awaiting army, their war cries and heavy feet shaking the very ground on which they trod. Eyes narrowed, Buffy turned, impatiently awaiting Faramir's signal as she tightened her one-armed grip around Legolas' waist. She had never done battle on this scale before, and yet it took only one look at the charging beasts to understand that they were about to meet the charge in true Gladiator style.

"Stay with me."

Startled by the brittle words, Buffy tore her gaze from the rushing army to see the hard lines of Legolas' turned cheek. His face looked as though it had been carved of marble, and the slayer felt her grief flare anew for Mirdan as she instinctively pressed against a back that had gone stiff and rigid with the emotions that churned behind Legolas' ice-blue eyes.

"Stay atop Drlum and the protection that he offers for as long as possible. Movement will be tight and we must defend against both flanks. Then, and only then should you dismount and take to your opponents."

Nodding at Legolas' instructions, Buffy tightened her grip on her sword's hilt as she turned back to the enemy. "Let's get this party started," she whispered, her palm growing slick with sweat as her eyes danced from Faramir's tense features to the approaching wave of darkness.

"Gondor!" Faramir roared as he hefted his sword in the air.

"Gondor!" his men returned as the horses surged forward, their metal-shod feet digging into the frozen ground and churning up black soil.

Jostled forward by the unexpected movement, Buffy tightened her grip around Legolas' slender waist, instinctively molding her body against his so that they moved as one atop Drlum's broad back. Knees and thighs clenched painfully against the horse's flank, Buffy ducked to the side as the fair-haired elf lifted his bow, arrow notched against the string before he released it with his next breath - the shaft flying straight and true and downing one monster, and then another, and then another and another so quickly that even Buffy could only marvel at the swiftness and accuracy of Legolas' bow. To either side of Legolas' dark steed rode Thoron and Elladan, both elves releasing arrow after arrow at the oncoming army while Elrohir moved in near synchrony with his brother.

"Hold tight, lass, and don't let yerself be blindsided in the shuffle!" Gimli called out as he bucked and heaved on the back of Elladan's horse.

Nodding dumbly, Buffy tightened her one-handed grip upon her sword, her eyes darting nervously towards the line of attackers that drew ever closer. The meeting of forces was going to be brutal, and Buffy found her uncertainty growing as she struggled to remain in sync with Legolas' movements, all the while avoiding the rapid pull of his right arm as he continued to unleash a rain of deadly fire upon the approaching army - an army that was moments from descending upon them.

An army that would drown her in their darkness.

Lungs freezing, Buffy felt the world fell still as this single thought thundered within her body - a body which coursed with fiery strength even as it quivered with fear. The fear and the strength felt so incongruous, battling within a frame that was far too small to contain such opposing forces. She was a slayer, and slayers weren't meant to feel fear - yet the fear was just as real as the strength that drove her to fight the very darkness that had been used to create the slayer line. Their darkness gave her power, and yet it was that power that she was meant to destroy.

Grip faltering around Legolas' lean form, Buffy felt her body begin to move at odds with the elf perched before her as she struggled with the rending within her. She was a slayer and yet why did this scene feel so wrong? Why was she so in doubt just seconds before a battle that would be on a greater scale than any she had ever fought before?

Shaking her head, Buffy tried in vain to regain her former focus, struggling to remember Legolas and Gimli's curt advice. Stay with the horse. Defend the flanks. Don't get blindsided. Stay with the-

"Horse," Buffy muttered, as with a sudden rush of clarity she finally realized what felt so wrong with this picture. She was a slayer - a warrior that had defended her world many times over in the brief years since she had been called as its protector - and yet not once in the past seven years had Buffy ever gone to battle on a horse. A Winnebago? Been there, done that - but a horse? Buffy realized that she wasn't in control of the beast that propelled her into battle, and that lack of control was ruining her game even worse than any of Angelus' taunts ever could. With a grim smile, Buffy understood that in this world that was to be her home, she belonged on a horse mid-battle just as much as she belonged in the trees.

Buffy was a slayer and a slayer did battle from the ground.

Grip tightening around the pommel of her sword, Buffy leaned forward once more, molding herself against Legolas' back as she pressed her lips against the edge of his pointed ear. "Meet you on the ground!" she called out, casting her voice above the pounding of so many heavy feet and the roars of those that were hefting their weapons before them, only scant precious feet away. Pulling back, she allowed no chance for the distracted elf to answer as she risked a quick glance behind her, gauging the location and distance of the men that urged their horses behind the fair-haired elf, before turning forward to select her first opponent from the black maw that yawed before them - a large orc whose eyes glittered with malice as he joined the rush of his malformed brethren.

Lips stretching into a thin, determined line, Buffy released her tight grip on Legolas and placed her hand flat on Drlum's dark back, feeling the powerful muscles rippling beneath the suede skin as she put all of her weight on that one arm. In one fluid movement, knowing that timing was everything, she propelled herself into an unsteady crouch on the horse's back, her sword still tightly gripped in her right hand, before launching herself through the air towards her unsuspecting victim.

As the forces of Gondor crashed against the abandoned forces of Mordor with a deafening roar of steel on steel and sword against flesh, the cries of the attackers vying against those who were mercilessly cut down, Buffy's own small body torpedoed into one large orc with all of the momentum of a rushing freight train. Grunting as soft skin collided with hard armor, Buffy jammed her sword through thick plates of metal and into the black skin beneath even as they were both driven against the tangled grasses of the Pelennor Field.

Rolling with the impact, Buffy lost her grip on her sword as she quickly fell into a crouch upon the trampled ground, her eyes locked upon the horses that stampeded past her petite frame with such force that she had to struggle to remain upright. Yet the moment that the army cleared her location, she was already up and moving back towards the fallen body of the orc that she had killed, one hand pulling free the dagger that had been sheathed at her side as her eyes swept over the carnage.

The moon was bright and full above, casting a pale glow on the chaos that reigned on the fields about her. Everywhere she turned she saw orc and man and dark-elf, pitted against one another in a fierce battle in which the loser would spend eternity ruing the mistakes that would be made this night. Already bodies littered the battlefield - the faces of orcs forever locked into twisted masks while those of the men were etched with pain and surprise. Everywhere the orcs and dark-elves fought against those who were still mounted as they pulled the men from the valiant horses that were dying beneath them. The shrieks of the dying warred against the grunts and cries of those who spread death without mercy or thought, and Buffy, the one person in her world who had been created for such violence, found herself reeling from the overwhelming, gruesome nature of a war that her blood had created.

Blood.

Feeling the heat course through her veins, Buffy's mind cleared as her senses warned her of a threat that soared towards her turned back. Throwing herself forward in a tight roll, the slayer twisted and came to one knee as she released her dagger with a blinding swiftness, the light refracting off the metal blade as it cut through the air and sank into the chest of a stormy-eyed _mornedhel_, piercing his heart and ending his life before his blade could sweep forward to destroy her own. Without sparing a glance toward the beautiful face of the downed dark-elf, she quickly turned and retrieved her sword from the orc's dead body before stepping back to pull the dagger from the elf.

Armed once more, Buffy spun towards a Gondorian soldier who was being overwhelmed beneath a wave of jeering orcs, the dying shrieks of the man's horse grating against her sensitive hearing. Darting forward Buffy slashed with sword and dagger, the sharp blade cleaving through black flesh as orc blood splattered the ground, coating the grasses and making each step treacherous upon the slippery ground. Orcs were falling beneath her blade as she struggled forward, yet by the time she reached the center of the circle the man had already stopped screaming, and there amongst the orc carcasses she found his broken body, the red of his blood mingling with the black that poisoned whatever it touched.

For a brief moment Buffy faltered beneath the man's unseeing gaze before another cry caught her attention, causing her to turn back to the mayhem that surrounded her. "We're not going to win this," she whispered, realizing for the first time the futility of the battle that they fought, her eyes sweeping over an army of courageous men who were hopelessly outnumbered. Yet this time there would be no last-minute saving grace. There would be no miraculous rebirth from death; there would be no rocket launcher or library of explosives; there would be no merging of selves and there would be no magical salvation - and most of all, there would be no hobbit who could save them all with the destruction of one small ring.

There was nothing to save them.

* * *

Arms aching from the strain of fighting an enemy that had no end, Buffy staggered against someone's dead horse as her breath burned within her lungs. They had been fighting for hours, and yet for each orc and dark-elf that fell beneath her blade, it seemed as though three others stepped forward to take their place. She was a slayer and graced with a slayer's stamina, but even she felt as though her arms were made of lead and her legs of jelly. How the men of Gondor remained standing after so many hours of battle was beyond her, and a testament to the fortitude of the grim-faced people.

"Buffy, _enni_!"

"Coming!" Buffy sighed as she pushed away from the horse's stinking carcass and towards the fair-haired elf that had called to her. Somehow she had stumbled upon Legolas and the others a few hours into the fight, and since then the blond elf had refused to allow her from his sight, always calling to her in his language when she drifted too far from his side. At first she had been thankful to once more have someone watching her back, just as the Scoobies had done for so many years, yet after the first few summons and after so many hours of ceaseless fighting, Buffy began to find the elf's attention just one more thing to add to her list of things to deal with this long night.

"I was just taking a breather," she muttered as she paused mid-stride to duck beneath an orc's wild swing of his curved blade. "Not like these guys were going anywhere," she added as she forced her aching arms to lift a sword that had gotten heavier and heavier as the night passed on. Gritting her teeth against the familiar burn, she swung the blade in a clean arc, neatly decapitating the monstrous creature and sending a wave of blood to wash at the feet of the twin elves that fought side by side.

"Ai! Buffy, watch what you are doing!" Elrohir groused as the dark blood stained his dark leggings.

"You are getting sloppy!" Elladan added with a dark grimace at his own similarly soiled garments.

"Oh, would you two just stop your bitching?" Buffy grumbled as she caught a passing orc in the stomach with her long-handled sword, the metal tearing through cloth and skin in a way that caused dark blood to splatter her leather coat whose tan coloring had long since been lost beneath so many layers of blood and filth. "Stupid prissy elves," she added for good measure as she sidestepped another passing orc, one hand tangling in its black, matted hair while her foot connected with its back in a powerful kick that sent its body hurtling forward, its neck snapping with a wet crack that was lost beneath the mournful wail of a single horn.

"My Lord, Sauron's beasts call a retreat!" one man called out to his steward as Buffy turned to the others in confusion.

"A retreat?" Buffy repeated incredulously as the men that remained began to raise their voices in cheer. "But why?" she asked as she sensed Legolas move silently beside her.

"The sun is rising," the elf noted as he directed her attention to the shadowed lands to the East.

Buffy watched as the orcs and dark-elves retreated in a fractured line towards the decimated city of Osgiliath - a city that still burned upon the river Anduin - scattered soldiers following in their wake until their steward called them back. Lifting her eyes towards the dark mountains that lay opposite the grand river, the slayer watched as a red sun began to shed her pale light over the lands, lightening the dark shadows by almost imperceptible fractions. "That doesn't make any sense," she argued as Faramir stepped beside their small group, his tired features twisted in a dark scowl.

"This battle was won too easily," he agreed. "The orcs cannot fight beneath the sun's light, but that should not stop the dark-elves from finishing what they have begun. Why would they forfeit their advantage?"

"Perhaps because they feel as though they forfeit nothing by their retreat," Elladan mused as his brother moved silently beside him.

"They don't think we have a chance of winning?" Buffy returned, trying to ignore the small voice that had been whispering that same conclusion all night long.

"No, they already know we have no chance of winning," Legolas corrected in a soft voice as his arm bumped against her shoulder, drawing her gaze to his ageless features. "This battle was naught more than an example of their might. They will come again when the sun sets, and this time, they will hold back nothing."

"But why? Why give us one more day?" she demanded, feeling her frustration begin to mount as the fair-haired elf slowly turned his face away, purposely avoiding her gaze and leaving the small group bathed in silence.

"They give us one more day to change our mind," Thoron stated, saying what his prince could not. "They give us one more day to return you to them," he continued, his dark eyes boring into her for the briefest of moments before he turned and began to nonchalantly wipe his blade clean upon the soiled garments of a dead orc that lay at his feet.

Flinching at the elf's pointed reminder of the role that she had unwittingly played, Buffy turned away from the others and began to move amongst the many bodies that littered the sparse fields, her sword dragging at her side. Already the cries of the wounded and dying began to echo over a world that had finally fallen silent. It was a silence that she had wished for at one point when the clamor of heavy feet and the orcs' raucous cries had been too loud, and yet now it was a silence that left her feeling more empty than ever before.

She had done this. She had come to this world, and in doing so, she had destroyed it.

Pausing beside the body of a man that looked no older than her, Buffy gazed upon pale features that were smudged with dirt and crusted with drying blood. Absently she dropped her sword as she crouched beside this stranger, one hand twining with his cold, stiff fingers before she even realized what she was doing. This man - no, this _boy_ was dead - and his death, along with countless others, all lay upon her shoulders like a heavy mantle that was destined to break her once-proud stance. She had caused this and she-

"Come, _mellon-nin_," Legolas whispered as his pale hand fell upon her sloped shoulder. "There is nothing that you can do for him now. Let us help those who can still be helped."

Nodding stiffly, Buffy tore her gaze from the boy's dead eyes as she accepted Legolas' proffered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He was smiling at her - his perfectly sculpted lips lifted in the smallest of arcs - and yet that small gesture was enough to banish some of the cold that had tried to mire her beneath its icy surface. "Those that can still be helped," she repeated, flashing him the best smile she could muster under the circumstances as she turned her eyes to the many wounded that dotted the vast plains.

They had work to do.


	33. Chapter 33

**Equinoxium: Chapter 33  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

Wincing as her back cracked painfully, Buffy slowly straightened beneath the warm winter sun and cast her eyes about a scene from a war movie - one in which there were no victors or losers, just blood, death, and the gripping defeat of so many lost lives. There weren't enough rooms in the Houses of Healing to accommodate the many wounded that had been brought up from the blood-stained Pelennor Fields below. There weren't even enough beds or benches in all of Minas Tirith, it seemed, and soon those who had carried the survivors upon wooden planks, horses, and their own bent backs were forced to leave the injured men lying upon the stone road of the sixth circle - a stone road that was quickly becoming slick with running blood. Except in this world, the cries of the wounded and dying, and the blood that stained her fingers and clothes were no fantasy. This was real, and in this world, real men were dying all around her.

For hour upon hour Buffy had worked tirelessly with the other soldiers down in the Pelennor Fields, continually turning over crumpled bodies to search for those who yet lived - but with each passing hour the number of survivors slowly dwindled until none now remained. Buffy looked down upon the groaning face of a stranger. The man's cheeks and forehead were streaked with dirt and blood, and he clutched one stained hand against a gaping wound that ebbed a crimson wash with every stuttered beat of his heart.

This one wouldn't make it. Buffy was no doctor, but as a slayer it was impossible to _not_ recognize the signs of one who had lost far too much blood to survive to see another day. This man had gone without aid too long down upon the Pelennor Fields, hidden amongst the bodies of friends and neighbors, and the healers, all too few when surrounded by so many wounded, would be helpless to save him.

Buffy was no stranger to losses. Sometimes, no matter how hard she fought, she was still too late to save one person - a stranger, a friend... a lover. Over the years she had lost many people - those whose faces were a blur amongst many, and others whose every laugh line and dimple were forever etched in her memory. Yet never had she witnessed so many losses on such a grand scale.

"Buffy."

Startled, Buffy turned from the wounded man to find Legolas standing beside her, his impossibly beautiful features crafted into a picture of concern as one hand rested gently upon her shoulder. Frozen by his heavy gaze, Buffy swallowed painfully as she felt the weight of the ages press upon her. In this city of Men, with the cries of the dying echoing off of stone streets to rebound back upon them in a booming mockery of life, mortality encompassed them in her smothering blanket. Yet before her Legolas stood as though a single eternal light against the darkness of death. His pale features, smudged with dirt and crusted with dried blood from a cut that had seeped wet tears, were still smooth and unlined - youthful in every unblemished curve. His shoulders were straight and unburdened with weariness, his clothing wrinkled and torn around his lean form - and yet ever did he project the image of a tall oak, bending before the wind and yet never breaking before the storm. He was a vision of beauty and strength, and one that was at odds with the horror that surrounded them.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Buffy turned from the elf to look back upon the wounded man she had carried from the battlefield, only to find that in her inattention his movements had stilled and his pain-filled eyes had become glassy and unseeing. "Is this what war is like?" she asked, her voice soft as she opened her senses to a world filled with pain and suffering in which no one was sheltered from the darkness that would always thrive in the shadows.

"It is," Legolas returned as his hand fell away, his ageless gaze becoming hazed as he looked upon the devastation.

"Too many people died here," Buffy whispered as she wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling the weight of her sword upon her back and the press of her dagger against her heated skin - all reminders of the futility of the battle they had fought.

"And many more will join their brothers before the end has come," Legolas murmured with a saddened nod. "Such is the way of war," he explained with a helpless shrug.

"War sucks," she concluded, forcing a weak smile in return as she lifted one hand to grasp the stone that throbbed against her skin, only to have her fingers captured within Legolas' tight grip as the elf's other hand seized the lapel of her leather jacket and pulled it to the side, baring her shoulder to the morning light.

"You bleed," he murmured, his voice a low warning, and with that simple proclamation all other thoughts fled Buffy's mind as her body turned cold.

Without thought, she quickly pulled away, tearing her hand free from Legolas' and pressing it against a long, jagged gash that had been taken in battle, unnoticed until now, but which predictably began to throb as she felt the warm fluid seep between her pale, clenched fingers. Horrified by the sight of that which was responsible for this war, she became transfixed by the crimson drops that slowly dripped free to trail a bloody line down her dusty skin to gather at the edges of her halter. Nauseated, she felt her head begin to spin as her blood was bared to the cold winter light.

The irony was too cruel, and turning, Buffy made to run from this madness when Legolas' firm grip twisted her until she was once again standing before him. Terrified that she would see the disgust that had to be shining in his eyes, revulsion at that which her blood had created and for the pain that she had inflicted upon him, Buffy nevertheless forced herself to meet his unblinking stare - and found herself floundering when she found naught but sadness mirrored in his bright blue orbs.

"_Mellon-nin_, you cannot run from that which is a part of you," he murmured as he slowly lifted one hand until it lay atop her own, his fingers twining with hers above the wound that stained their skin with blood. Smiling gently, he pulled his hand away and nodded to his blood-stained palm. "I do not fear this, and neither should you," he admonished as his lips lifted in a small smile. "None of what transpired here today was your doing."

"You are wrong."

Startled, Buffy and Legolas turned to find that unwittingly their conversation had drawn an audience - an audience that was comprised of the hurting, angry, and wounded soldiers that had fallen in the fight that her blood had created. Recoiling from the accusing words, Buffy looked from one dark face to another before her eyes fell upon a familiar stranger. Frowning, she struggled to place the older man as he rose from the side of a severely wounded soldier that he had carried up from the fields. His face was ragged, with dark rings under his eyes and black stubble on his cheeks, and though one arm hung limp at his side, bloody and useless, he still stood tall and carried himself with all of the pride of a Gondorian soldier. No - a palace guard, Buffy corrected herself as she noted the difference in uniforms.

With a sudden start, Buffy recognized the man, her mind flashing back to the two guards that had taken her from Legolas' bloody side in the gardens of the Houses of Healing, to what was to be her prison. She hadn't seen that man since that time, just a few days past, and yet she remembered well his harsh grip and unforgiving eyes - eyes that were once more fixed upon her with malice and hatred. This man knew of the role that she had played in this rise in darkness, and if the people of Minas Tirith were still left ignorant of her part, all too soon that ignorance would be stolen by this guard.

"This is all your fault," he hissed as he took a menacing step forward, the other soldiers rising as they were able to form a tightening circle around her and Legolas. "Your blood has the power to take life away," he roared over the quieting crowds, his words ringing over the stone streets and carrying into the lower circles. "Yet it also has the power to heal," he added, his tone darkening as he looked to Legolas with sharp eyes. "Who are you to decide who deserves such a gift? Who are you to deny healing to any of these men who have died to destroy the very creatures that your blood has created?" he demanded as he moved closer until he towered over Buffy's petite frame - but this time Buffy wasn't backing off.

"Stand down!" Legolas ordered as he tried to move between Buffy and the angry man as the slayer angrily jutted her chin up at the tall soldier.

"Is this what you want?" she demanded as she pulled her hand away from her bared shoulder, her skin slick with crimson stains. "It's blood. _Blood!_" she hissed, her voice rising as she turned in a quick circle, her eyes piercing the growing crowd. "This is what you spill, people. Not what you drink!"

"He drank it," the guard coolly cut in as he jerked his head toward Legolas, ending Buffy's retort before it had fully formed on her lips.

What could she say to that?

Stunned, Buffy quickly realized that there was nothing she _could_ say. She _had_ given her blood to Legolas, and though he took it unwillingly, it was her blood that had saved his life.

This time.

Confused, Buffy found herself backing away until she bumped against another man, only to find herself shoved forward as the crowd of wounded soldiers became a mob. In a matter of seconds she once more lost her identity as a person, and in its place she became a thing - a tool to be wielded against the darkly cloaked figure of Death. Cries for her blood began to fall from those that were hurting, the honorable men of Gondor falling prey to the belief that in it lay their salvation.

Numbed by this realization, Buffy began to lose touch with reality as she felt Legolas' strong arms wrap around her slender frame, holding her protectively against him as the angry circle tightened around them with the slow closing of a noose. For three months she had suffered as someone else's property - a fate, she had decided, that was worse than death itself, as proven by her increasingly desperate attempts to take her own life - and here in this city of men that Aragorn had proclaimed as her home, her identity had once more been taken and her role reduced to that of cattle to feed whatever whim or desire took those that were to be her people.

"Aragorn! Faramir! _Enni!_" Legolas called out as the men began to press about them, the elf desperately calling for his friends' aid as he reached for one long-handled knife. "Stand back!" he ordered with all of the authority of his lineage. "I do not wish to harm you-"

"No, we can't hurt them," Buffy whispered dazedly from within the protection of Legolas' arms. "I can't hurt humans," she murmured as she closed her eyes and burrowed her head against his chest, fervently wishing for the cries to stop. "I can't hurt them," she repeated, desperately falling back upon one of the rules that she had lived by for so many years.

"No, you'll heal us," a low voice whispered, a hot breath tickling over her ear as Buffy felt several strong arms wrap around her waist and seize her arms in pincer-like grips, tearing her from Legolas' safe embrace.

"No! Stop it!" Buffy ground out as she opened her eyes to a dizzying display of too many faces twirling around her as she was pulled this way and that. Far away she heard Aragorn and Faramir's voices lifted as they tried to restore order to their troops, Legolas' curses as he struggled with the men who were dragging him back, and even the voices of Gimli and the twins as they attempted to fight through the mob that had assembled. But all were too far away and Buffy was alone, overwhelmed by the press of heavy male bodies as her coat was ripped from her shoulders and as she was pressed to the ground.

She was the slayer and yet she was helpless in this. Grunting as her back was slammed against the bitter cold stone of the road beneath her, Buffy tried to twist beneath the rough hands - but strength was of no use to her here as the crush tightened, metal shod feet slamming against her head and body, the scents of blood and sweat clogging her nose as questing hands tore at her flailing limbs. The panic was consuming her and desperately Buffy fought to remind herself that these were men that surrounded her, and not the orcs that had held her captive for so long. But all too soon everything began to blur into one, and her restraint began to lessen as she fought harder against those that held her down.

But it was a battle that she was destined to lose.

Before Buffy could comprehend what was happening, she felt the agony of cold metal driving into her side, piercing skin and tissue before being torn free and releasing a hot torrent of blood in its wake. Screaming out in agony, her body bucked and tensed beneath the burning pain as she felt warm lips press unseen against the wound that bled freely, hungrily drinking that which was never meant to be consumed.

It was the violation of body and soul that she had promised herself she would never let happen again.

Time stopped and Buffy ceased her struggles and fell limp beneath her captors' hands. Her breath was locked within her and the rest of the world melted away - the cries of her friends and unwitting enemies becoming silent to her ears as she awaited the one cry that would spell the end. For time uncounted she waited in silence, the grief for everything that was and everything that would be welling within her as a single tear dripped from beneath her tightly closed eyes.

And then it came.

The scream of agony was horrendous - a cry of such profound pain that it was driven up from the depths of the man's tortured soul as that same soul was rent to pieces. This was the penance for drinking that which was never made to be consumed and with that one piercing cry Buffy felt another part of her soul wither and die.

Instantly the rest of the clamoring voices fell silent as the crush slowly eased, the mob dissolving into the hurting and confused faces of the valiant men of Gondor that had fought to keep their families safe. Alone Buffy lay on that cold ground, her blood ebbing from the stab wound to her side as someone's legs knocked against her knees in fierce convulsions as her poison worked its way through his system. His screams never waned in intensity, a keening cadence that raked her from head to toe as she slowly opened her eyes to see the cloudless blue sky shining in a cheerful, sunny vision above.

"Buffy!"

Blinking slowly, Buffy watched as Legolas' frantic face replaced the blue sky. She felt strong arms slip under her shoulders, lifting her up and forward until she was pressed once more against his lean frame. Even now the stone worked its magic upon her as it gave her the strength to stand on shaken legs, her hand absently pressing against her injured side as she buried her face into the folds of Legolas' tunic, breathing in his familiar scent as she felt his arms hold her against him. He smelled of wind and rain and forest and brook.

"Aragorn, what-"

"Help me hold him down!"

"What should we-"

Silence.

Breath rattling through weary lips, Buffy slowly turned her head. Aragorn and Faramir knelt on the stone road beside them, the limp body of a man lying between them with the crowd of soldiers standing frozen in a loose circle about their king and steward. The man lay on his back, with his limbs strewn in a wide arc around his heavy frame - a blood-stained knife lying inches from his open fingers. His face, much paler than before, was locked in a grimace of agony, his eyes drawn wide with red starbursts marring the white around his unseeing gray-eyed gaze. His black stubble was now speckled with red - a deep red that stained his lips and flecked his pale skin.

"He's dead," Aragorn stated, his voice flat as he looked from the dead man to where Buffy huddled within Legolas' embrace. Shaking his head, he met her eyes only briefly before he looked to where she clutched her hand against her wounded side. He pushed himself from the ground with a heavy sigh and slowly turned to look at his men with saddened eyes. "Now do you see?" he asked, his voice resonating with power and wisdom. "This is what happens when you take that which should not be taken!" he thundered before his anger dissolved with a downturn of weary shoulders. "We are mortal, my friends," he continued, his voice softening as the men turned their eyes from their king in shame, "and this is the gift that Ilvatar has given us, though bitter it may seem. We were not meant to have our hurts fixed and our lives prolonged in this manner. We are not elven-born and are not meant to live forever. When Ilvatar decides that it is our time, it is our time. It is not for us to change."

Naught but silence met the king's words, a silence that was broken only by the soft groans of the severely wounded that were oblivious to the tension that filled the sixth circle.

"My apologies, my lord, but Ioreth is in desperate need of your aid."

Turning at the sound of the familiar voice, Buffy watched as owyn, enormous in her advanced state of pregnancy, slowly moved beside her husband, one hand resting on the blood-stained gown that covered her wide girth.

"Of course," Aragorn acknowledged with a stony look at the silent crowd, "for there is little time and much for everyone to do," he continued as the crowd began to break at the king's pointed words.

"Buffy, are you well?"

Attention snapping back towards the White Lady, Buffy forced a brittle smile as she clutched her hand more tightly over the throbbing wound to her side. "I'll be fine - mostly skin," she assured her friend as Aragorn stepped beside the pregnant woman, his calloused hand pulling Buffy's arm away as he inspected the stab wound with a quick eye. The blade had indeed pierced the outer edge of her side, sinking deep through flesh but tearing no muscle.

"It does not look critical," he assessed as Buffy resisted the urge to shy away from his touch - a touch that felt little different from the unwelcome ones of the men that had attacked her but moments before. Features tightening at the thought, Buffy forced herself to remain where she was, locked between Legolas' comforting presence and Aragorn's cool touch.

"Legolas, would you escort Buffy back to her chambers and ensure that someone sees to the injury?" the king continued, his eyes sliding past her narrowed eyes as Buffy struggled against her fraying temper. So much had happened in so little time that she didn't know whether she should be angry at what had just happened or horrified by the part she had played in yet another unnecessary death - not to mention that Mirdan's death still weighed upon her, the loss of her friends, and her role in this strange world. In the end she figured that she was entitled to a little of both.

"Of course," the elf responded, his arm tightening around her waist as though he sensed her growing ire. "Send word if you have need of me," he added before forcibly turning her, his strong grip propelling them both towards the tunnel that led to the seventh circle of the city, pausing only to reclaim Buffy's rumpled duster.

Scowling openly now, Buffy looked back just in time to catch owyn's sympathetic eye before the woman became swallowed in the chaos.

* * *

"Listen, I'm really okay," Buffy insisted as she jerked on the ornate handle to her bedroom door and shoved the heavy wood aside, moving into the room with quick, powerful strides. "This isn't anything-"

"Perhaps not," Legolas allowed with a small, patient smile as he lingered at the open doorway. "Nevertheless, I shall send someone in to assist you once you have had sufficient time to refresh yourself," the elf promised before pulling the door shut with a soft snick behind him.

"Whatever," Buffy grumbled as she turned back to survey a bed chamber that had obviously been straightened in her absence with a warm fire lit in the fireplace that kept the winter cold at bay. Mr. Gordo now lay propped in a pool of bright sunshine against the mountain of pillows that adorned her large bed, her new pajamas neatly folded at the foot, while the assortment of other gifts were stacked carefully on the beautifully carved dresser.

Sighing in defeat, Buffy dropped her leather duster in a crumpled, dirty heap on the floor at her feet before shuffling towards the large canopied bed. "Hey Mr. Gordo," she greeted softly as she reached for the fluffy pink pig, her hand freezing mid-air when she noticed the grime that stained her narrow fingers. Frowning, Buffy turned from the bed and moved towards the large windows, her hand lifted before her as she inspected the stains beneath the bright, wintry sun.

Dirt and blood caked her fingers, lining the edges of her fingernails and filling the cracks of her skin. Much of it was dry and stiff - itchy layers that cracked and peeled as she curled her hand into a fist - while other parts still glistened in the bright light. Frown deepening, Buffy turned from the windows, her eyes searching the room until they fell upon the open doorway to the bathroom that adjoined the large chamber. Moving swiftly, she stepped into the small room, her eyes darting over the tub that was filled to the brim with steaming water, over the different sweetly smelling jars that were scattered on the ledge nearby, and landing on the floor-to-ceiling mirror that stood innocently to one side.

Her reflection stared back at her - face pale, wisps of tangled, dirty hair fallen loose from her simple twist and framing her pointed features, green eyes large and unnaturally bright with dark rings beneath, clothing stained, and slender limbs dashed with liberal amounts of blood and grime. Hypnotized by her reflection, Buffy slowly stepped closer to the tall mirror as she lifted one hand and pulled the stick from her hair, allowing the long blonde masses to slip free to cascade over her shoulders in a shimmering wave.

Her hair was longer now. Longer than she had kept it in Sunnydale.

Eyes slipping down to the dirty leather halter that she wore, Buffy watched her reflection as her small fingers slipped beneath the lower hem and slowly eased the tight fabric over smooth expanses of pale skin. Gingerly she worked the top over her small breasts and eased it over her wounded shoulder, hissing at the stinging pain, before dropping it on the cold marble floor. Next her fingers went to the lacings of her boots, nimble hands making short work of the tight knots as she methodically toed off each shoe before reaching for the hem of her pants, stripping before the mirror until she stood naked before the spotless glass.

Buffy scrutinized her reflection in the mirror - a reflection that looked as strange to her as that of another person. While always petite in stature, she was skinnier than before, her knees and shoulders more pointed and her angles more severe. Even her breasts looked smaller - much of the fat having disappeared over the months that she had been Vashnak's captive. Her skin was pale - her beautiful golden tan having faded long ago - and blood and dark bruising liberally covered her narrow frame. Reaching up, Buffy gently poked at her tender shoulder before fingering the wound to her side. Both injuries, while still painful, were already beginning to mend at a speed even greater than what her slayer healing allowed.

Buffy's eyes lifted once more, taking in Battered-Buffy in all of her naked glory, before her gaze finally rested upon the blood-red stone that stood stark against her pale flesh. Gently she lifted the small pendant in one hand, her eyes tracking over every small curve and crevice as she marveled at that which she held. She was powerful because of this stone. Strong. And yet why did she feel so very weak at this moment?

Turning away from the mirror, Buffy silently moved to the claw-foot tub, each foot slipping beneath the water with only the barest of ripples to mark her passage as she lowered herself into the deep, scalding water. Hissing as her skin prickled and burned against the heat, Buffy leaned back until her head rested against the marble edge.

The answer to her question was simple, really. Willow's gift had restored her strength - at what cost was still to be seen - but it was powerless to restore the confidence that had slowly crumbled during her months in Middle-earth. Or perhaps even long before that. She had been emotionally strong once. Self-assured. But now? Now she could play the part that was given her and paste on the brave face, but the shields that she had always erected had become corroded and too many hurts had slipped past them to slice into her heart and soul.

Mirdan.

Legolas.

The soldier.

Giles, Xander, Angel and Spike.

Dawn, Willow and everyone else.

Her mother.

Everything that had happened, no matter if it was five minutes or three years in the past, was still too much for her to bear. There was so much to worry about that Buffy found herself getting overwhelmed just trying to decide which she should worry about first. Should she think about all that she had left behind in Sunnydale? Or how about the man that she just killed in front of the Houses of Healing? Or Mirdan? Wait - didn't the upcoming and absolutely hopeless battle deserve some of her attention? Or how about the fact that after what happened in the courtyard, this place couldn't be her home anymore than Sunnydale? Which one deserved more of her attention?

Groaning softly, Buffy closed her eyes and slid beneath the steaming water, floating in the deep darkness. Bad things were happening all around her and the future looked dismal - but she had faced this many times before. Why were things so different now? Why was she so overwhelmed that she couldn't even enjoy a bath without nearly falling to pieces?

Releasing her breath in a rush of small bubbles, Buffy quickly sat up, roughly swiping the water from her eyes before seizing the nearest bottle of pretty smelling stuff and upturning it in the palm of her hand. The quiet was making her nuts and Buffy found herself desperately craving the MP3 player that was sitting in the other room. She would even listen to some miscellaneous boy band if it provided something to center herself - something to distract her from the memories and thoughts that moved in endless circles about her head.

Scowling at the purplish ooze, Buffy worked the substance into her long hair before moving on to the filth that caked her body from head to toe, scrubbing away the darkness until her skin began to glow a raw pink color. In minutes she rid herself of every reminder of the battle she had just fought, her hair tangled and dripping down her back as she stood from the dirty water and stepped gingerly onto the marbled floor.

Hand snagging a thick, strange looking towel, Buffy wrapped it loosely around her painfully thin form and padded back into her bedroom. It had to be getting late in the morning and the dark of the coming night would be swift to follow. With darkness came battle and in her current frame of mind, Buffy knew that she wouldn't last five minutes, let alone make it through another night of fierce fighting.

Stopping beside her bed, Buffy dropped her towel into a crumpled heap at her feet as she reached forward and snatched up her new flannel pajama pants. She just needed to re-find her equilibrium and she'd be fine, she reasoned to herself as she hastily stepped into the overlarge pants that pooled around her ankles, her fingers quickly pulling the drawstring tight around her small waist. She just needed to-

"Buffy-"

Yelping, Buffy quickly snatched her matching tank top and pressed it against her chest. Spinning around she found none other than the Queen of Gondor sitting regally in a chair by the large windows. "Arwen!" Buffy gasped, her face burning as she realized the full implication of just whom she had dropped her towel for. "What are you doing here?" she hissed as she turned around and hastily pulled the shirt over her dripping head of hair.

"Did not Legolas say that he would be sending someone to see to your wounds?" the queen returned with a smile that was lined with laughter, her dark eyes sparkling as she gracefully stood and waved at the medical supplies that rested on the table beside her.

"Well yeah, but you could have knocked," Buffy grumbled as she pulled at the cotton material that was now sticking uncomfortably to her skin, the thin fabric soaked through in many places by the water that continued to drip from her long hair.

Laughing, Arwen stepped forward and took Buffy's hand in hers. "Nearly ten years have I lived in this city of men, yet even now I find myself marveling at the modesty of your race," she explained, her voice a musical lilt as she led the small slayer to the table and gently pushed her into a cushioned seat. "The Firstborn are not so uncomfortable with the bodies that Ilvatar has gifted to us. But surely you would have learned this during the weeks that you traveled with Legolas and my brothers?"

Flushing at the thought of a group of hot, naked male elves wandering the wilds on horseback, Buffy quickly shook her head. "No, can't say I did," she mumbled as she forcibly tried to get her hormones in check. Riding with the guys had been bad enough, but to have their hotness rubbed in her face? That would have been just cruel. How wrong was it when even _Thoron_ was hotter than the Johnny Depps of her world? "So, uh... you're a healer?" Buffy asked, desperately trying to change the subject as Arwen lifted the hem of Buffy's shirt to inspect the healing wound.

"Not a healer by trade," Arwen dismissed as she turned from the stab wound to inspect the red line that used to be a nasty gash upon Buffy's shoulder. "But one is not the daughter of the most skilled healer in all of Middle-earth without learning a few things," the she-elf continued as she turned from the gash and back to the stab wound with a small frown. "How strange," she murmured as she ran her pale fingers over the injury. "These wounds have nearly knitted themselves closed."

"Yeah - all a part of the slayer deal," Buffy quickly explained as she pulled down the hem of her shirt and scooted from the plush chair, feeling the heat of Willow's stone burn against her skin.

"Is it?" Arwen returned, her voice mild and her face impassive as she looked questioningly down to the stone that hung around Buffy's neck.

Resisting the urge to stuff the pendant beneath the top of her low cut tank, Buffy merely nodded stiffly. "Yes, it is," she affirmed as she returned to the bathroom long enough to retrieve a long, beautifully wrought comb that was fashioned from a pearly bone. Earlier she had admired the amazing craftsmanship, but now she took no note of its beauty as she tried her best to avoid Arwen's sharp elven gaze.

While Buffy and owyn had been given the chance to form the tenuous base of a new friendship, the queen was still a stranger to the slayer, and Buffy found herself reminded of this fact as she yanked the comb through the tangled masses of her long, dripping hair. Arwen was beautiful in a way that went beyond simple words and the cracked vision of Hollywood starlets. She was grace and light - ethereal and untouchable - with the type of gentle demeanor that placed her high on a pedestal that was never meant to be touched, let alone even approached by the likes of the slayer. Buffy, in contrast, was darkness and shadows. She had dwelled in the blackest places of mankind for so many years that whatever purity she had been gifted had been squandered in the deep shadows long ago.

Scowling at the dismal thought, Buffy viciously attacked her matted hair. "What I wouldn't give for a little bit of conditioner," she grumbled, wincing as the strong teeth tore through a particularly stubborn knot. Frowning, she dipped her head forward and pulled harder on the comb's handle, willing the teeth to either work through the mess or just pull it all out - when she felt long, gentle fingers ease her hold and relinquish the comb into another's sure grip.

"While I know not of this thing for which you long, I do know from experience that brute strength is not required in this battle," Arwen spoke from behind her as the tall she-elf began to gently work the comb through the tangled mess. "When it comes to battles of this nature, true strength is delicate," she advised as her nimble fingers eased the comb through snarls and knots, smoothing the flyaway wisps into straight, even lines.

Buffy relinquished all control with a soft sigh and allowed her eyes to slip closed, one hand lifting to gently grip the burning stone at her neck in her small fist. Slowly she felt her embarrassment at being so helped begin to ebb as she became lulled by Arwen's slow, methodical movements. Her thoughts wandered to earlier, happier times when she was nothing more than someone's daughter - a child who would stand before her mother as the tangles were worked from her baby-soft hair. Those had been simple times. Wonderful times.

"There is a tale," Arwen murmured, her voice a soft whisper that encased Buffy in her warm breath, "told amongst my people of a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature to be found on these shores."

Smiling, Buffy began to rock on heavy feet as all of her previous worries melted away before the queen's lilting voice.

"From the moment it leaves the nest the bird spends its life searching for one tree - a tree of thorns, tall and lean with long branches of sharp spires. The bird does not rest until it has found one, and then singing amongst the savage branches it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. Dying, it rises above its own agony to sing more sweetly than either the lark or the nightingale."

Buffy slowly stilled as Arwen continued to gently work her fingers through her wet tresses, as though oblivious to the dark turn her story had taken.

"One song in which the bird's life is the price," Arwen continued, unperturbed by Buffy's growing unease, "but all of Arda stills to listen and Ilvatar smiles, for the best is only bought at the cost of great pain."

For a brief moment silence reigned as Buffy swallowed the lump in her throat. "Oh," she muttered as Arwen's hands finally fell still, releasing her hold on Buffy's head as the slayer took an uncertain step forward and turned to meet the queen's gray-eyed gaze. "And that would be the moral of the story, I take it?" she asked as she raised a hand to her hair to find the snarled mess replaced by smooth, glistening strands. Without waiting for the queen to respond, Buffy quickly plowed ahead. "'Cause as far as stories go, not the most cheerful tale," she began.

"It is a bitter lesson," Arwen cut in with one of the small, enigmatic smiles that her race seemed so fond of, "but one that all will learn before their end has come. Frodo learned it well when he ventured to Mount Doom to destroy the Ring of Power," she intoned as she turned and moved to the tall windows that looked out upon the winter-swept gardens below. "I, too, learned this lesson when I pledged myself to a mortal, and thereby forsook my family for all eternity," she admitted as Buffy silently moved to the she-elf's side, the slayer's eyes shifting until she could meet the queen's gaze through the sun-fused glass.

"I don't know what to say," Buffy admitted, thinking back to the night that she had spent camped on the borders of Lothlrien and the sadness that she had seen laid bare in Elladan and Elrohir's eyes - eyes that were so similar to those of their sister.

"There is nothing to be said, for bitter was the parting between my father and I, and great is the pain that still aches within my breast. And yet..." Arwen hesitated with a small, sad smile, "and yet such was the great cost for the love that I share with my husband - the love that I will follow to a mortal grave."

"Because the best can only be bought at the cost of great pain," Buffy finished for the elf, revisiting the wisdom that the queen had wanted to impart. Smiling ruefully, Buffy turned away from the reflection of the she-elf's piercing gaze as her thoughts turned inward. If this was a life lesson, it was one that Buffy had already learned many times over as the slayer. Great things always had a price, and as she had learned early on, someone's life was usually the heavy toll: Jesse, Kendra, Miss Calendar... Faith, Riley, Tara... Dawn, Willow, Xander, Giles - even her mother had been a victim of someone else's greatness in some form or another. So many nameless, faceless girls that had died alone. Even Buffy herself had already purchased a measure of greatness when she sacrificed herself to save the world two years ago.

All of these sacrifices - all of these costs had been great simply in their level of pain inflicted. The only question that remained was, after everything she had already given for this cause, what more could she possibly have left to give? What more did they want of her? They couldn't take her friends - they had already done that when they banished her to this world. They couldn't take her family - that died with her mother. They couldn't even take her life because after dying twice already, what pain was there in that? Thus the question remained: what other toll was needed in order to achieve the best that this world deserved?

Buffy felt another headache coming on as her thoughts started to crowd her, desperately demanding her attention. "This sucks," she grumbled as she rubbed a shaking hand against her temple, wanting nothing more than the surety that she had always found in Sunnydale. But her days in Sunnydale were long over, and there wasn't enough time in this new world to reclaim the equilibrium that had been stolen.

"Forgive me," Arwen stated, her melodious voice cutting through Buffy's garbled thoughts. "Legolas has sent me here to see to your well-being and here I keep you from your rest."

"I'm not tired," Buffy sighed as Arwen gently gripped her arm and led the petite slayer to the massive, canopied bed. Yet even as the words fell from her lips, Buffy smothered a yawn as she felt her mind begin to haze from a tiredness that caused her limbs to seem leaden and old. For a moment she fought the sleep that was desperate to claim her, her foggy eyes sweeping suspiciously over the she-elf that was busy tucking her impossibly heavy arms beneath the soft comforter. Yet even that desire soon faded as Buffy welcomed the release that sleep brought - relief from her memories, from her thoughts, and most importantly, relief from the worries that had threatened to smother her beneath their heavy press. In minutes she released her hold on the conscious world and allowed herself to slip away into dreams.

* * *

Closing the door quietly behind her, Arwen turned from the slayer's chambers with a handful of her long skirts gathered in one hand and a saddened expression on her timeless face. There was nothing more that she could do for the young woman upon whom so much had rested for so long, and her heart felt heavy for the great burden that was shouldered by one of so few years. In a way, Buffy reminded the queen of her husband in the first days of their meeting. He, too, had been a child of man, so very young in body and old in soul, with the knowledge of his destiny resting fresh upon his mind. To both Estel and Buffy, their destinies had seemed unfair and both longed to return to the innocence that had been shattered by Fate's call - and yet her husband had shed Estel, same as he had shed Thorongil, Strider, and Aragorn when Elessar was needed, and deep in her heart the queen knew that Buffy, too, would shoulder her burden, slip free of the restraints of the past, and step forward to accept whatever role she was yet meant to take in a time that had become so uncertain.

"Arwen."

Startled from her thoughts, Arwen smiled at the fair-haired elf that ate the distance between them with long, graceful strides. "Legolas," she returned as the elven prince stilled at her side, his blue eyed gaze sliding past her own to the room she had just left behind. "She sleeps," the queen supplied, answering his unspoken question.

"Truly?" Legolas returned as he arched a brow in disbelief, his eyes once more slipping to the closed doorway as though he expected the petite slayer to come sneaking out at any moment.

"What else would you expect?" she asked, her lips twisting in amusement.

"From Buffy? Protests, arguments, and physical force if necessary," he returned as he took a hesitant step towards the door. "She is not one to be put down so easily, even if it is to claim the rest that her body so badly needs."

Laughing gently, Arwen linked her arm with his and forcibly turned the slender elf from the slayer's door. "Strong she may be, but she is still mortal and thus sleeps as does a mortal who has battled long into the night," she stated firmly as she forced the prince to fall into step beside her. At his soft sigh of acceptance, she quirked a questioning brow at the younger elf, noting for the first time the prince's own haggard appearance. "And you would do well to follow her example, _mellon-nin_," she added with a small frown as her sharp gaze tracked over his blood-stained, rumpled clothing and the dirt and blood that smeared his proud face.

"Perhaps," the elf conceded with a tired nod, "and yet there is still much to discuss." Slowly shaking his head, he pressed a weary hand against his pinched brow. "I still have not learned the details of her miraculous recovery, though I sense a darkness in the amulet that she wears around her neck. And yet the gem could only have come from her friends, and if she has spoken true, the last thing her friends would wish would be to add further injury to one so loved."

"An enigma to be sure," Arwen conceded as she stilled her steps, her hand light on his arm as she gently turned her old friend so that her piercing gaze could clearly read that which was hidden in his eyes. "And yet there is more you are not saying," she murmured.

Legolas slowly tilted his head forward, his long tresses slipping free to form a curtain around his troubled features. "I worry for her," he admitted with a soft sigh as he lifted his chin to look past her and to the world that was revealed beyond the windowed hall. The sun still shone bright and clear upon the cold winter day - a false image that offered hope and joy to a world that was without. "With this new attack upon her, never will she be welcome in Minas Tirith."

"Nay, she will always be welcome in this city of Men," Arwen quickly argued as she tugged on his hand, trying in vain to reclaim his wandering eyes. "Estel knows the truth of what happened before the Houses of Healing. We are her friends, and we lay no blame at her feet for the tragedy that occurred earlier this morn."

At her earnest words, Legolas turned to the Evenstar with saddened eyes. "But how could I have expected you to understand?" he murmured as he raised a hand to gently brush away a dark lock of hair that gathered at her pale brow. "These are your people now, and they love you as their own," he whispered with a careworn smile. "You are no longer seen as elf-kind to the men of this country, and instead you have finally become their queen. But I... even I still feel their eyes upon me as I walk their streets," Legolas admitted with a heavy sigh. "A new enemy has been revealed to these people - an enemy that wears the fair faces of our kin. And the same now holds true for Buffy, for ever will they see her as that which brought about their destruction. This place is ruined for her now. She has no place amongst men," he finished, the truth of his words ringing in the empty corridor.

"And you would give her a place amongst elven-kind?" Arwen evenly returned, her eyes narrowing upon her friend. "Legolas, our people are leaving these shores," she reminded him with a deep sadness that thrummed between both prince and queen - a sadness that throbbed with the aching reminder of the many goodbyes that they had both given to family and friends who had already taken ship to the Undying Lands. "This is no longer the time of our people. What more could Elves offer that Men cannot?" she questioned, hating the pain that she brought to his eyes as he struggled for an answer that neither possessed.

"I..." Legolas began, words failing him as he held Arwen's knowing gaze. "We-" he began again, only to breathe a silent breath of relief as the familiar fall of heavy feet caused both elves to turn as Aragorn hurried towards them, his long cloak flapping wildly behind him.

"Arwen!" he called out, his eyes bright in a face that was covered in dark shadows and long stubble.

"What is wrong, my husband?" Arwen demanded as she turned from Legolas and hurried towards the approaching man. "Is everything aright with-"

"owyn has need of you," Aragorn interrupted as Legolas moved closer to his two friends, the tall elf easily reading the anxiety that creased the king's proud brow.

"owyn?" Arwen repeated, her brow tightening in confusion. "What-"

"Her labor pains have begun," the king returned with a curt nod towards the steward's chambers.

Eyes growing wide, Legolas stood in stunned silence as Arwen gripped her husband's hand before quickly hurrying away, leaving the elf and man in a thickening silence. This child would be Faramir and owyn's fifth, and yet every birth carried much uncertainty for both the health of mother and child, no matter how many times the mother had gone down this path. It was a twisting fear that always colored the joyous culmination of nine months of waiting, and that the White Lady of Ithilien would finally go into labor at this hour, of all hours, could only be an act of Iluvatar himself.

"Should you not be there yourself?" Legolas questioned, finally breaking the stiff silence as he and Aragorn fell into comfortable step together. "Or at the Houses of Healing? Surely the healing touch of the king should still be required."

"Aye, and I still would be were it not for owyn and Ioreth," Aragorn admitted with a wry smile that did little to hide the weariness that caused dark lines to form beneath his clear gaze. "The White Lady requested that Arwen take my place in this endeavor, and if there is one thing that I have learned over the years, it is to never argue with a woman who is trapped in the throes of labor," he explained with a forced grin. "And as for the Houses of Healing, its mistress is fierce and she all but ordered me to find my bed before the battle ahead."

Eyes narrowing, Legolas glanced sideways at his oldest mortal friend. "Then you will take Faramir's place in battle," he hazarded, watching as the man's lips tightened into the grimmest of smiles.

"Faramir belongs with his family now, and not on a battlefield. His country will suffer without him this night," he offered with a small shrug. "Besides, if this night is truly to be our last, it is only right that he should spend it at owyn's side."

Momentarily frozen by this small admission of the grim odds that they faced, Legolas fought the instinctive urge to reassure his friend with false hopes. Their victory in the War of the Rings had been secured when the odds had been seemingly insurmountable, but that was when the fate of the world had rested in the hands of one small hobbit and the friend that refused to allow his master to fail. This night there were no brave hobbits and there was no sure victory that could be gained by the destruction of one ring. This night nothing was certain save a battle that they were simply incapable of winning.

Smiling sadly, Legolas stilled his steps and turned towards his friend. "It will be good to fight at your side once more, _mellon-nin_, for it has been far too long," he stated as he reached out and gripped the man's shoulder, his serious expression cracking beneath an impish grin. "Besides, I am taxed as it is trying to keep track of Buffy and Gimli. Add your brothers to the equation and it is nigh on impossible."

Weakly returning the elf's smile, Aragorn clasped his other shoulder. "We are all brothers in this, my friend, and I would rather not fight at anyone's side but yours," he admitted before quickly pulling Legolas close in a tight, brotherly hug. "Till the end," he whispered, his hot breath raking over Legolas' dirty cheek.

For a moment, Legolas remained locked in this familiar embrace, a sudden tightness filling his throat as something cold throbbed against the edges of his awareness. "Till the end," he automatically returned, his words soft and muted - sounding a world away. Yet if Aragorn noticed his friend's hesitance, he never showed it as he released the elf with a soft smile before heading towards his own chambers. Alone, Legolas stood in the silent corridor and watched until his friend disappeared from sight.

"Till the end."


	34. Chapter 34

**Equinoxium: Chapter 34  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

_The world was silent and still, without even the whisper of a small breeze to lift the smoke that lay heavy over the sundered city, while the sky, dark and heavy with thick, roiling clouds, reflected the reddish light of the fires that razed the once green Pelennor Fields. Far away the crash of crumbling marble echoed off broken stone, the lonely sound carrying through Minas Tirith to where Buffy stood on the very edge of the embrasure - the same spot where she had stood only days ago with Spike at her side. Yet that had been a different day - a day in which the sun was shining and she had been surrounded by her friends._

_This was not that day._

_Frowning warily, Buffy cast her sharp gaze over the decimated city as a feeling of nostalgia ripped through her small frame. This was the Minas Tirith from her dream - a proud city of men that had been reduced to crumbled stone buildings and massive gates that had been battered into ruins. This was a vision of what would come if they failed in the final battle that night._

_"It's very beautiful here."_

_"If you're into Hiroshima-like ruin, then yeah, I guess it has its own subtle charm," Buffy returned caustically as she arched a challenging brow at her watcher who stood at her side. Yet as she looked upon his grave features, she felt her eyes drawn beyond the older man and to the White Tree of Gondor that was now withered and dead in the courtyard beyond. "This isn't how it should be," she murmured, remembering well owyn's explanation of the White Tree and its connection to the lifeblood of this city._

_"Nothing is as it should be," Giles corrected. "You were born to one world and yet now you live in another. You were given certain gifts to aid you in fighting the darkness and yet now those same gifts have _created_ darkness. Nothing is as it should be, and yet you are here for a reason. Most people in this world have no idea why they are here, but you-"_

_"Have a reason for being here," Buffy finished with a tired sigh. "Yeah, we've already covered this," she continued as she shot her watcher a sharp glance. "I'm the Chosen One, the girl with all the power, and I'm the one who can make the difficult decisions, blah blah blah," she sighed as she waved impatiently. "As I said, we've already done this. I understand now the power I have-"_

_"Do you?" the watcher cut in, his eyes dark._

_Eyes slipping shut, Buffy turned away from his piercing gaze as she heard the soldier's dying screams anew. "How could I not? My blood is my own - it's what keeps my heart pumping, my lungs beating, and my thoughts spinning. I need my blood to live, but it has a power all its own. It gives me the power to build darkness. It gives me the power to kill," she murmured as she slowly opened her eyes and looked down upon her small hands - hands that were once covered in blood._

_"Then you haven't learned anything at all."_

_"So why don't you spell it out for me?" Buffy snapped as she turned to glare at the man she would always love as a father. Yet no answer was forthcoming, and the silence thickened between them as Buffy wearily turned away. "Listen, you know that I've never been good with the cryptic, so what I _don't_ need is you or anyone else pointing out how little I know," she hissed as she rubbed her aching forehead. "I remember how this dream goes and I don't need Dawn to try and goad me into winning this battle. I don't need Xander or Willow, or even Spike telling me what I'm doing wrong. I don't need or want the loneliness or hate that comes with this job, but I've dealt with it before and I will again. The past is behind us now and I'm left to figure this thing out as I go along, just as I always have."_

_"But things are not as they always have been. Times are different now - darker."_

_Opening her eyes at the familiar voice, Buffy found herself once more standing in the middle of a battlefield. The world was as it was the night before, only worse, if possible, for there was no room to breathe amongst the many combatants as foe and ally alike struggled for life. Once more the armies had engaged one another upon the blood-stained Pelennor Fields, and once more their bodies were frozen mid-strike or in their death throes. As before, in front of her stood a horrific tableau in which Vashnak stood poised with his powerful arm drawn back and his fingers curled around the edge of his taut bow string, one arrow set against the curved wood. Following the straight shaft, Buffy saw that again the arrow was aimed at Legolas, the blond elf standing unarmed with red blood smeared across his pale face. Only this time, Arwen, Queen of Gondor, stood between the two elves, a vision of starlight and grace._

_"I don't understand," Buffy murmured as she took a step closer to the tall she-elf._

_"The time is coming, and when it arrives you will have no place amongst them. You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you will be alone, for he will not be there for you."_

_Frowning, Buffy slowly shook her head as she continued forward until she was standing directly before the beautiful elf, in between Vashnak's arrow and Legolas' heart. "Who won't-" she began as she arched her neck back to meet the elf's saddened gaze._

_"When the time comes, he will not choose you," Arwen repeated as she slowly reached out and brushed her hand against Buffy's forehead. "He will not choose you."_

* * *

Gasping, Buffy bolted upright in her bed as her wild eyes swept over the empty chamber, echoes of the queen's warning rippling through her mind. As before, the dream remained sharp and vivid in her mind, leaving no doubt that her slayer heritage had dropped yet another prophecy onto the lap of one who seemed so abysmally unworthy. The dreams were hardly ever meant to be taken literally, and instead every word spoken, and every action and setting were steeped in hidden meanings that, without fail, eluded her until she was able to look back in hindsight and make the connections that would then seem glaringly obvious.

"Stupid slayer dreams," Buffy grumbled as she ran a hand through her matted bed hair, only to freeze at that small reminder of her eventful morning and Arwen's ensuing visit. Frowning, fingers tangled in her rumpled silky tresses, the slayer glanced to her wall of windows and the warm sunlight that fell upon the polished glass from a far different angle then before, indicating that several hours had passed since the queen's visit. Hours that Buffy had spent fast asleep and oblivious to the many things that needed worrying about before the night set in.

"Stupid sneaky elves," she grumbled as she shoved back her soft blankets and crawled towards the edge of the massive bed. While she knew that she had been tired from the night before, her exhaustion couldn't explain how quickly she had dropped into sleep, especially when sleep had been preceded by the embarrassing fact that it had been the Queen of Gondor who had tucked her into bed. No, Arwen must have had something to do with her prolonged and strangely restful sleep, Buffy realized as she jumped down to the floor and started towards the Middle-earth version of the bathroom, one hand still tangled in her rumpled hair.

Suddenly Buffy felt a cold draft fan across her exposed flesh, causing her skin to prickle as she instinctively darted the remaining few steps into the adjoining chamber. Pressing her back against the cold stone wall, she suppressed a small shiver as she felt the adrenaline course through her veins, causing the last vestiges of sleep to flee before the heady rush. Breath slipping silently between parted lips, she took a quick stock of the bathroom, her expression barely shifting as she noted that her clothing from the night before was gone, and that the only weapon she would find in this polished room was herself.

Smiling coyly at her sleep tousled reflection, feeling the strength coursing through her veins, the slayer realized that she was the only weapon that she would need.

"Did he see you?"

"Nay, I think not."

Predatory smile dissolving as she recognized the familiar voices, Buffy turned from her reflection and stepped silently into the main bed chamber, her eyes following the source of the cold draft back to the balcony door that was gently being eased closed. Crossing her arms about her chest, Buffy watched in amusement as Elrohir and Elladan, the proud lords of Imladris, huddled before the wide expanse of glass, their lean backs turned towards her as they peered intently into the gardens below. "What are you two doing?" she asked, her voice sounding like a gunshot in the silent room as the brothers jumped and turned towards her, their eyes ridiculously wide.

"Buffy!" Elladan gasped, his eyes raking over her rumpled flannel pants and matted hair before shooting his brother a helpless look. "We..."

"We came to see how you fared," Elrohir explained as he flashed the slayer a brilliant smile - a smile that cracked beneath a loud, dwarven bellow from the gardens below. Wincing simultaneously with his twin, the younger elf turned back to survey the grounds below as he took a cautious step further into the room.

Laughing, Buffy's stance softened as she leaned against the edge of her dresser. "Okay, better question: what did you two do to Gimli that requires hiding out in the room with the nearest unlocked door?" she asked with a pointed nod to her balcony that sat three floors above the ground below.

"Ah yes, that," Elladan murmured with a long-suffering sigh. "Well you see, the dwarf truly was very heavy, and thus we decided to..."

"Lighten his load," Elrohir supplied with a bright smile.

Shaking her head in mock exasperation, Buffy fixed each elf with a pointed glare. "You hid his armor, didn't you?" she asked as their smiles only grew.

"But of course," Elrohir admitted shamelessly as Buffy rolled her eyes and ambled back towards her canopied bed.

"But of course," she repeated with a wry shake of her head as she waved the twins towards any number of chairs positioned in the large room. "Well, if you're going to be hiding out in my room, you might as well have a seat."

"We are not interrupting?" Elladan queried as he undid the clasp on his winter cloak. Turning, he draped it over the back of one of the chairs that was strategically placed before the large windows before settling lightly into its cushioned depths.

"No, I was just getting up," Buffy admitted as she settled back against the mountain of pillows, one hand digging beneath the covers until she was able to locate Mr. Gordo amongst the tangled blankets.

"But the day is yet early," Elrohir argued as he ignored the empty seats and ambled towards her pile of gifts that were still stacked neatly upon her dresser, his own cloak dropped carelessly somewhere along his path. "Should you not be sleeping still?"

Buffy's thoughts immediately flashed back to her slayer dream as she slowly shook her head - not that Elrohir would have seen, as he was far too immersed in paging through her gifted copy of the Slayer Handbook. "Too many thoughts in my head," Buffy answered instead, a small smile playing at her lips as the elf abandoned the book to open the bottle of whiskey, his nose scrunching in disdain at the smell of the strong liquor.

"Ah yes - the curse of being of the race of Men instead of Elven-kind," Elladan responded for his brother as he nodded knowingly at the slayer.

"What, the ability to think?" Buffy retorted, dragging her eyes from the younger twin's perusal of her stuff to arch a slender brow at the elder.

Lips twitching, Elladan curtly shook his head. "No, I was referring to the inability of Men to let go when the moment has passed," he explained as he stretched his long legs before him. "With thousands of years of memories and thoughts to fill us, the ability to do so is necessary or else madness would take us."

"If it hasn't already," Buffy muttered with a playful grin before slowly shaking her head. "I used to be good at letting go," she admitted, smiling wistfully as she tugged at Mr. Gordo's pink ear.

"And aside from the obvious, what is different now?" Elladan returned, his soft question causing Buffy's hands to still on the pig's tufted ears.

"Aside from the obvious?" she returned, her gaze turning inward as she was reminded of the same question that she had been asking herself that morning. While the circumstances here in Middle-earth were undoubtedly different than anything she had ever faced before, the fact remained that Buffy had been in hopeless and desperate situations before - and never had she fallen apart so spectacularly. Sure, she had died during her battle with the Master, and yes, she was forced to send her lover to Hell when facing Angelus, and okay, so maybe she did have to die to stop Glory - but the fact remained that she had faced all of those situations with far more aplomb and confidence than now. Hell, she was pretty sure that she had a swagger in her step each and every time she had faced certain death. So what had been so different this time?

"My friends," Buffy breathed as she turned to Elladan with eyes that were suddenly clear. "My friends were always there to make sure that the world never became too much," she explained, finally understanding the source of her uncertainty. Alone she may have always been weak, but it was together that they were strong. "Apocalypse coming? Time to hit the Bronze for a little down time," she added with a small snort of amusement. "Mortal danger? Nothing that can't be helped with a little sarcasm and ill-timed humor."

"So humor, metals, and dragging time is all that you require?" Elrohir absently responded as he abandoned the container of ground coffee with a look of disgust. "If so, then you truly have come to the right place, for my brother and I are never without humor, the dwarf can give you your fill of metals or talk thereof, and time will always drag when you are forced to endure Thoron's company," he explained before lifting the last item of his perusal. "And what, pray tell, is this?" he asked as he held the small device aloft.

"That?" Buffy returned as the elf gingerly carried it closer and settled on the bed beside her. "That's an MP3 player," she explained as Elladan abandoned his chair to join his brother's curious inspection of the small square of modern technology. "It uh... it plays music," she haltingly explained as the twins turned to her in confusion.

"But how?" Elladan demanded as he eyed the player with growing distrust. "Where are the musicians? Where are the singers?"

"Well they're not in there," Buffy laughed as she snatched the player from Elrohir's cupped hands. "Guys, it's just a machine," she stated as she unplugged the earphones and began toggling through the different artists listed in the small LCD display. "Someone somewhere recorded the musicians and singers, used some neat machinery that I couldn't even begin to explain to make them sound good, and then put them in here so that people can play it back and listen to it later," she explained as she found the most non-intrusive artist she could find. Smiling, she quickly selected a random Enya song and turned up the volume, her smile growing as the twins instantly started at the first soft cords.

"Saruman believed in machines," Elrohir stated, his voice grave. "He was-"

"Evil, yeah, I got the memo," Buffy cut in with a wry smile. "But in my world, our society is built upon machines. I mean, if it weren't for machines, how would we be able to listen to our favorite music whenever we wanted?" she asked as Elladan took a hesitant step closer, his face lit with cautious wonder as he bent to inspect the small, slender box that was cradled in her hands. "It's not like we can take the band with us wherever we go," she added as she unceremoniously dropped the player in the elf's strong grip.

"Perhaps," the elder twin allowed, "but your voice is something that cannot be left behind," he argued as he began pushing buttons, his features twisting into a grimace as the loud strains to a Linkin' Park song burst from the tiny speakers.

"Yeah, but some people, myself included, shouldn't be allowed to use their voices for anything but talking," Buffy stated with a self-deprecating smile.

"Ah, so you have been forced to endure Gimli's singing after all?" Elrohir asked before snatching the player from his brother's hands. "How do you go back, _muindor-nin_," he demanded as he, too, began pushing buttons. "I think that last one was less atrocious than the others."

Smiling as the two elves began to bicker over the new toy, Buffy leaned back into the soft comfort of her bed. This, she realized, was what she had been missing here in Middle-earth, and she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps both Elladan and Elrohir hadn't known that after all. Perhaps their escape route hadn't been chosen merely on the basis of unlocked doors after all.

"Aie! Buffy, please help him hasten to the next song! This is no music at all, but rather a torture device that must have been crafted by the Dark Lord Sauron himself!"

Grinning impishly, Buffy abandoned her internal musings and instead settled herself into the comfort and warmth that could only be brought by friends. These elves, strange though they were, did care for her on some level - and somehow Buffy realized that was all that she needed.

* * *

"Nothing that's worthwhile is ever easy."

Silence.

"Nothing that's worthwhile is ever easy."

Silence.

"_Nothing_ that's worthwhile is ever easy!"

Frowning, Buffy met her determined stare through the polished window, her reflection bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. The twins had left hours ago, apparently believing the way to be safe from irate dwarves as they begged her forgiveness, claiming that work still needed to be done before the battle ahead, and many more hearts that needed lightening by their antics. Some time later a quiet, mousy girl had come in bearing heavy buckets of steaming water, the servant's eyes never quite meeting Buffy's own as she filled the tub for a welcome bath. A little bit later she had returned, this time bearing Buffy's leather ensemble - cleaned and repaired from the battle the night before. But that had been hours ago and now Buffy stood before her wall of windows, her gaze locked upon her own green-eyed reflection as the slow shift of light from the setting sun bathed her room in golden light.

"_Nothing that's worthwhile is ever easy!_"

Frown deepening, Buffy shook her head. "I need a new mantra," she admitted with a wry smile as she turned from the glass, her hands smoothing away invisible wrinkles in the soft leather she wore. The clothing hugged her petite frame, encasing her in a subtle reminder of home, and with a small smile the slayer realized that it was a nice touch - a bit of harmony that tied in with the pink pig that was snuggled comfortably atop her pillows, her duster lying haphazardly to the side with her sword propped against the foot of the bed.

Torn from her thoughts by a soft knock at the door, Buffy instinctively started forward, years of living on the Hellmouth having ingrained in her the basic rule of never offering an open invite to whomever waited without. But then, this wasn't Sunnydale and she hadn't seen a vampire (other than Angel and Spike) in months. Grinning at the thought, Buffy purposely turned from the closed door and settled into a chair, her legs stretched out before her. "Come in," she called out, feeling ridiculously pleased with herself for this small freedom.

"Are you dressed?" came the timid reply as a head of long, golden hair slowly edged around the door's frame.

"I wouldn't have asked you to come in if I wasn't," Buffy returned with a wry smile for the elf as she quickly abandoned her seat and hurried towards the bed. "Time to go?" she asked as she scooped up her leather jacket and shrugged into the fitted material, the usual flutters of adrenaline already beginning to course like fire through her veins.

"No, not yet," Legolas replied as he closed her door with a soft snick, the hesitance in his voice catching her attention.

Frowning, Buffy slowly straightened the lapel of her jacket as she eyed the elf that she had come to know better than anyone else in this world. He was dressed as he had been that morning, one ruined green tunic exchanged for another, and though the blood and dirt had been cleaned from his face, and his braids restored to their usual perfection, his shoulders seemed weighted by something that hadn't been there before. "Is something wrong?" she asked as he slowly moved past her until he came to stand before the wall of glass that separated them from the outside world in an unwitting mirror of Arwen's actions earlier that morning.

Smiling ruefully, Legolas met her eyes through the glass. "Most everything is wrong with this day, and yet some wrongs have been righted."

"Okay, that's pretty vague, even for an elf," Buffy muttered as she followed the lithe being until she was standing at his side, her eyes turning from the beauty of the setting sun as it slowly made its way towards the far horizon, dark shadows following fleetly on its tail, to inspect his ethereal features in the brilliant wash of color and light. "Did Gimli send you? Because harboring fugitives really isn't the same thing as aiding and abetting-"

"I came to thank you."

"Thank me?" Buffy parroted, her brows scrunching in confusion as Legolas finally turned towards her, his eyes burning with something that she couldn't understand. "Why-"

"For the great service that you have done me," he explained, his eyes refusing to relinquish their hold upon her as a slow smile lifted his narrow lips.

"Okay - so not following this conversation," Buffy admitted with a frown as Legolas took her hand in his, his earnest expression softening his features and causing him to look even younger than before. "Besides," she continued, "last I checked, my track record here hasn't exactly been great - and I certainly haven't serviced anyone or been serviced in far too long," she admitted with an impish smile.

Legolas slowly shook his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. "How quickly you forget the healing you so freely gave me in the gardens of the Houses of Healing," he teased as Buffy instinctively tried to step back from the reference to that awful moment, her mirth forgotten beneath a cold wave of bitter remembrance.

"And how quickly you forget how much you feared me when I forced my blood down your throat," Buffy countered with a bluntness that would have made Anya proud. She quickly shook her head as she turned away from the elf's searching gaze. "Legolas, while the end result of what I did is undoubtedly of the good, you seem to be forgetting that everyone else, yourself included, certainly didn't think so at the time. Aragorn had me thrown in jail!" she pointed out as she looked with blind eyes upon the setting sun, ignorant of its beauty as her thoughts remained locked on that dark day. "And while I'm still smarting from being jailed, Aragorn _was_ right that day, same as he was today. My blood wasn't meant for this and you... you were just lucky to have survived," she admitted as she felt his hand fall gently upon her shoulder, silently drawing her attention to a gaze that remained warm despite her self-recriminations.

"My heart tells me that you speak true and that your blood was not meant to heal hurts in this manner, and yet..." he murmured, his words trailing into a sigh as he glanced at the darkening skies before turning to her with eyes clouded with emotion. "Buffy, you not only healed the hurts that had been done to my body, but also the old hurts that tore my soul in two long before that day. You healed me, body and soul."

For a moment the silence stretched as Buffy looked stupidly at Legolas, her mouth hanging open as she tried and failed to process his words. His claim was too huge for her to comprehend, and the gratitude that she finally recognized in his eyes was too alien to her. For seven years she had served her world by fighting the darkness that they were all too happy to ignore. It had been a thankless job, and gratitude had come all too seldom and far between the fights, the pain and losses. To have it so freely given now, and for a deed that she had considered a betrayal of their friendship... it was simply too much for her overburdened mind to understand. "I did what?" she hesitantly returned, finally breaking the stifling silence as she forced a weak grin.

Eyes dancing at her obvious confusion, Legolas squeezed her hand briefly before releasing it. "Gimli, too, knew not how to respond. But then, I have been afflicted with this longing for nearly all the time that he has known me. I only first encountered the gulls during our journeys with the Fellowship and-"

"Wait," Buffy quickly pleaded as she pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, her head spinning dizzily. "I don't understand," she admitted as she looked bewilderingly upon the fair-haired elf. "I thought you guys couldn't get sick."

"We cannot," Legolas agreed, his eyes shining. "But do you not remember that night when we were both taken captive in the southern reaches of Mirkwood?"

"How could I forget?" Buffy returned with a small grimace. "Stone beds, horrible hosts, and party games that left us both at an unfair advantage equate not-good-times in my book."

"Ah, but tis better to be in chains with a friend than to be in the woods with strangers," he argued with a sly grin.

Snorting, Buffy quickly shook her head. "Maybe for you and your friends, but me and mine have never really been into the whole bondage thing - well, for the most part," she amended with a cheeky smile.

Staring at her strangely, Legolas pursed his lips as though he was about to inquire further before curtly shaking his head. "Regardless, I was referring more to our talk of the sea."

Buffy's brow furrowed in confusion. "We talked about the sea? Like about taking a cruise or something?" she asked as Legolas shook his head in exasperation.

"Nay, not about sailing upon the seas," he clarified, "but of the longing that, once awoken in an elf, will never cease its siren song that forever beckons us to her sandy shores. It is this call that draws more and more of my kind over the seas each and every day - a call that all will answer in time and which no one is capable of refusing. Even me."

"So... you had the longing and because of me, now you don't," Buffy slowly summarized, even as she felt her heart begin to tighten. The joy and peace that shone in Legolas clear gaze was unmistakable, and that he _thought_ that she had done him some glorious service was apparent, and yet Buffy couldn't help but worry if perhaps the opposite was true. From everything she had learned of elves, and from her own experience with two certain vampires with souls intact, living in a mortal world was perhaps more difficult than dying in one. While the eventuality of dying and leaving people behind was undoubtedly a sucky proposition, what hurt even worse was being the one left behind to deal with the pain and the loss. Legolas, with so many close mortal ties, was ultimately going to be the one left behind, no matter how he cut it, and from everything that she had gathered from the others, Valinor would be the only band-aid that could possibly cover such a devastating hurt.

"But... does that mean that now you're never going to go to your elf paradise to be with your family?" she continued as the heaviness began to settle upon her shoulders in that same, familiar weight. "You haven't cashed in your one-way ticket, have you?"

"Nay, some day, Valar permitting, I _will_ take a ship to the land of my kin," Legolas quickly reassured. "But it is thanks to you that the day of which I speak will now be a day of my choosing. I may now live in peace until the time comes when I know it is right to finally depart these shores for all eternity," he finished with a slow, wistful smile.

Understanding all too well the pleasure of one day leaving for a promised paradise, Buffy turned and looked back into a world in which the light steadily began to fade. The sun had not yet passed beyond the horizon, and yet the deepening shadows in the barren gardens below served as a weighty reminder of all that had come to pass in order to bring them to this moment - to this night whose outcome was certain only in their defeat. "And I bet you're wishing now that you would have picked a day that came before this one," she murmured, remembering again the dark vision of a Minas Tirith that lay shattered and broken before the might of those her blood had created.

For a moment the silence lengthened before she felt Legolas' soft hand upon her shoulder. "What troubles you?" he asked, intuitively understanding that there was more than the seeming misdeeds of the past that pressed upon her.

Buffy ran a hand over her face as she silently weighed her options. To speak of her dream and put a sizeable damper on Legolas' joy at being sea-longing-free or to sit and stew over something that was beyond her capabilities of deciphering? Smiling slightly, Buffy realized that when put like that, the answer was quite easy - these past few months she was pretty sure she had stewed enough to last more than her share of lifetimes. "I had a dream this morning - a slayer dream," she clarified as she turned back to the elf with heavy eyes. "The only problem is that I've never been great with the deciphering."

"Deciphering? Of your dream?" Legolas queried, his brow creased in confusion.

"Yeah, I usually went to Giles for that," Buffy admitted before shaking her head in frustration. "I'm telling this all wrong," she grumbled as she turned and sank into a nearby chair. "Remember how I told you that part of the slayer package is the whole dreaming of things that don't make sense but usually come true in some form or another?" she asked, waiting for his hesitant nod as he settled lightly in a chair beside her, his eyes locked with her own. "Well this morning I had another one, and the basic message I was picking up was that I have a reason for being here even though I have no real place here, that I'm meant to stand alone in this, and when the stuff really hits the fan, I'll be alone because _he_ won't be there for me."

Frown deepening, Legolas slowly looked away, as though something she had said had struck a nerve with the elven prince. "And you believe this will come to pass?" he asked, his voice low as he turned his searching gaze back upon her. "You truly believe that there is no place... no, that matter can wait," he murmured, causing Buffy's confusion to deepen as the elf visibly turned from his train of thought to focus on another track. "Who is this elusive 'he' that your dream refers to?"

"Isn't that the million dollar question?" Buffy asked, deciding to allow the elf's half-murmured thoughts to slide for now. "The first time I had the dream, I thought the 'he' was a lump grouping of my friends from home," she explained with a small shrug. "It made sense at the time because I knew they would be leaving and that I was going to be alone here."

"But you are not alone," Legolas quickly argued, his expression adamant as he scooted towards her so that their knees bumped against one another - a small, persistent contact that allowed no room for doubt.

"I know that now," Buffy reassured as she flashed the elf a small smile, wishing that she could somehow put words to how much that reassurance really meant to her. How did one explain that death itself wasn't nearly as frightening as making that transition alone - especially to one who was never meant to die? Buffy was mortal, and as all mortals, from the second that she was born she had begun to die. She even had a jump start on the rest of the populous - after all, been there, died twice - but forced to be alone in those final moments? That was the scariest part of all. And yet as Legolas once more took her hand in his gentle hold, his eyes filled with fierce conviction, Buffy realized that perhaps the words needn't be spoken aloud after all.

"Buffy, I cannot tell you what the future may bring nor where this road may lead us," Legolas murmured as he held her eyes within his steely gaze. "None can say with any true certainty - not even the Lady Galadriel - but I can promise you this: you shall not stand alone in this battle. I will stand by your side this night, and there will be nothing that shall tear me away," he vowed, his soft words warming her heart more than the hottest fire.

In that moment, Buffy felt the world melt away as she looked into his earnest blue eyes and truly _believed_ that if anyone could make such a promise, it was the creature that sat before her. The Powers That Be, the higher beings that she had served for so many dark years, had stolen her from her world - from her friends - and in doing so they had deprived her of the very thing that was like air to her hurting body. Her friends were what she lived for. They were what she died for. They were the reason that she rose each morning and struggled against that which life threw her way. They were the reason that she would raise her sword against an enemy that seemed beyond her capabilities, and without them it had seemed inevitable that the words of her dream would come to pass. She would have been alone in the end, but by Legolas' word alone he would defy fate this night. He would stand against the crashing waves of destiny and he would keep her from what she feared most.

"Thank you," Buffy murmured, her voice both soft and sure as she felt another strand of her broken spirit mend with the elf's solemn promise. "I-" she began, her words forgotten as both slayer and elf turned towards the window as a single horn's low, mournful note carried to their sensitive ears from the outside world. "Does that mean that it's time to go?" Buffy asked uncertainly as she abandoned her chair and moved towards the wall of glass.

"Nay, those horns belong not to the men of Gondor," Legolas returned, his brow furrowed as another horn sounded, this one light and clear and far different from the first.

"What-" Buffy began again as the elf's features fractured into a wide, disbelieving grin.

"Quickly, gather your things!" he ordered as he bounded towards the door, just as a third horn issued its cry, causing the elf's delighted steps to falter as he laughed aloud. "Buffy, _enni!_" he cried, unconsciously slipping into his native tongue as he turned to her with eyes that glowed with excitement.

"Coming!" Buffy grunted as she shot the elf an exasperated look, one hand tucking her dagger into its sheath at her side while the other snagged her sword from where it was still propped against her bed. Turning she hurried towards the elf and followed him into a hall that was now filled with servants, soldiers and nobles alike - their excited voices carrying over one another in a chaotic din.

Pausing in the open doorway, Buffy turned and surveyed her empty room that was awash in the light of the setting sun. Instinctively she looked past the opulent dressings and instead focused on that which mattered most: Mr Gordo, her photo album, and her small pile of gifts that were all that remained of a lifetime that was so far away.

"Buffy-"

"I'm ready," Buffy interrupted as she pulled the door closed, the soft snick resounding with a fierce finality that carried above the clamoring voices. "I'm ready," she whispered again as her heart began to hammer, Willow's magical stone searing her skin with each strong thrum.

Yet the burning press was forgotten as Legolas seized her hand, his strong fingers wrapping around her own as he insistently pulled her forward, their feet tapping off of the richly carpeted stone to the call of the three strange horns.

_muindor-nin:_ my brother  
_enni:_ to me


	35. Chapter 35

**Equinoxium: Chapter 35  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

"Excuse us!"

"Oof!"

"Sorry about that!"

_Grunt._

"Oh, was that your toe? My bad!"

"Eeps!"

Sighing in frustration as she was pulled none too gently through yet another crowd of Gondorians, Buffy tugged ineffectually upon her hand which remained trapped in Legolas' tight grip, forcing her to follow in the lithe elf's hurried steps. The trip from her room to the sixth circle of the city had taken forever as both slayer and elf had battled the growing crowds that gathered at the sound of the persistent horn calls. Calls that everyone seemed to recognize but Buffy herself.

"Listen up, people! Mad elf coming through! Back off!" she ground out as she squeezed between wide shoulders and bustling skirts. Yet the crowd took no notice of her and her companion as the gathered people stood on their tip toes and struggled forward, desperately craning their necks as cries of salvation echoed throughout the sixth circle. "I said back-" Buffy began again as she was suddenly pulled free of the crushing mob to find herself standing in an open area that embraced the gate that stood as barrier to the fifth circle. Before her stood Aragorn, Gimli, Thoron and the twins, their eyes turning expectantly towards her as she quickly swallowed the rest of her frustrated cry. Feeling her face begin to burn, Buffy shrugged apologetically before scooting closer to Legolas, just as the guards to the sixth gate stood aside to allow not three, but five different groups to make way into the sixth circle.

Eyes growing wide, Buffy watched as a vaguely familiar man with long, tousled blond hair rode through the gate with a small contingent of men at his side, followed by a troop of hardy dwarves arrayed in sturdy metal armor, axes propped upon their strong shoulders. Behind them rode another tall man of noble bearing, his dark hair tinged with silver that matched his wizened sea-gray eyes, with a small grouping of men who proudly carried a banner that depicted a silver swan-prowed ship on a field of blue. Next came a smaller group of men, their faces stern and their clothing worn and dirty - a stark contrast to the finely arrayed elves that rode alongside them, bearing the green banner of Ithilien.

Laughing joyously, Aragorn strode forward and greeted each of the men like brothers, his eyes dancing with a light that had been absent for several days, while the head of the elven unit bowed formally before Legolas, his hand fisted over his heart. "Okay - what am I missing here?" Buffy whispered as Legolas and Thoron both returned the elf's formal greeting. "Who are these people?" she murmured as she turned to see Gimli animatedly talking with the dwarves in his own tongue while the twins had gravitated towards the men that she recognized as the Dnedain of the North.

"They are our friends," Legolas stated with a broad smile. "That man there is King omer of Rohan, brother to Lady owyn," he explained as he indicated the blond whose armor bore etchings of a white horse on a green field. "With him are Gimli's dwarves from the nearby Glittering Caves. Over there," he continued as he waved towards the regal man with graying hair, "is Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. He is ruler of the kingdom of Belfalas in southern Gondor and is uncle to Faramir and father to Lothriel, wife of omer. And that..." Legolas trailed off with a small smile as he indicated the final group of men that stood alongside his kin. "Well, I believe that you are already well acquainted with Halbarad and his Rangers," he replied with a brilliant smile.

Pointedly turning from the hardy men before any had a chance to recognize her, Buffy curtly shook her head. "And while I get that they're the good guys, what I don't understand is what they're all doing here - especially since it sounds like they brought friends. As in lots of them," she added as she listened to the noise that drifted from the outer gates of the city, the overwhelming sounds of thousands of horses and men carrying on the brisk winter wind. With a start, Buffy realized that the people of Minas Tirith had been right - these people could very well be their salvation. "I thought that the messages wouldn't be able to reach them in time," she pointed out as Aragorn, having overheard her words, nodded to his friends.

"She is right," he admitted as he turned to omer and Imrahil with curious eyes. "The watch towers were only lit yesterday morn, and the messenger to Belfalas should not even reach Dol Amroth until tomorrow, let alone the messenger that we dispatched to my kin in the north," he added as Halbarad joined the gathering of great leaders. "Not that I am not grateful for your timely arrival, but how can this even be possible?"

Wise eyes gleaming beneath the light of the setting sun, Imrahil turned from his king's wondering gaze and looked to the shadows that settled in the east. "Six days ago I had a dream that foretold of a great darkness that gathered on the doorstep of Minas Tirith," he admitted pensively. "And yet the greater surprise came when I awoke to find a stranger in my chambers."

"A stranger?" Aragorn prompted, his brow creasing in confusion.

"An old man, or so he appeared," Imrahil clarified, the voices of the gathered people falling silent beneath his grave words. "He was bent with age with long hair that lay tangled down his back - an Istar, or so I believe, who bade me to travel with all haste to my king in the North."

Snorting at this revelation, Buffy ignored the curious gazes she drew as she shook her head in wonder at the gall of a certain balance demon. Whistler, costumed as an old man that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Istari that the people of Middle-earth were most familiar, had only paid their group a visit the day before when he had pushed for her friends to return to where they belonged. If he really met with Imrahil six days ago, that meant that the sneaky little demon had set things into motion long before the council in which everything had been revealed and the decision to go to war had been made.

"I received the same visitor over a week ago, bearing the same message," Halbarad admitted with a wry grin as he clapped the older man on the back. "And wizard or no, it is by luck alone that I stayed my hand long enough to hear his tale."

"Luck indeed," omer laughed before shaking his head. "But regardless, it seems the wizard had different plans for me, for while no one has been in my bed chamber save my lovely wife," he explained with a wicked grin at his father-in-law, "I did receive two other visitors just six days past, urging me to ride like the wind to come to Gondor's aid - again," he laughed with a bright smile to his old friend.

Puzzled, Aragorn looked at the younger man in confusion. "Who-" he began as Buffy was rudely shoved to the side as two small beings, one arrayed in armor that bore the crest of Gondor while the other was of Rohan, barreled past them to come to a skidding halt before the king.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took reporting for duty, my lord!" the one clothed in Rohan's armor declared as Buffy stared at the duo in open fascination. It was like seeing her first elf and dwarf all over again as her eyes swept over the little people from the tops of their curly heads to the bottoms of their rather large and hairy bare feet.

"Hobbits," she muttered, recognizing their names from Legolas' stories of Merry and his cousin Pippin - the notorious trouble-makers of the Fellowship of the Ring who were supposed to be safely ensconced in their beloved Shire.

Laughing in delight, Aragorn dropped to one knee and swept both hobbits into a crushing hug. "But how can this be?" he asked as he pulled away, one hand resting on each of their small shoulders.

"I think we received a visit from Gandalf's brother!" Pippin confided in a bright, youthful voice. "Or his cousin perhaps?" he continued with a small frown.

"Whoever he was," Merry broke in as he elbowed his cousin into silence, "he said that you needed our help. Sam wanted to come, too, but Rosie refused to let him go off on another adventure, what with the new baby coming and all. So I'm afraid you're left with just me and Pip."

"And we are all the better for it, dear friends," Aragorn returned with a broad smile. "Especially since you passed through Rohan on the way," he added as he nodded towards omer's men and Gimli's dwarves.

"You don't know the half of it," Pippin sighed as he shot a frustrated look at the dwarves who were standing noticeably apart from the elves of Ithilien.

"We ran into Halbarad and Legolas' elves yesterday," Merry explained, "and it was like traveling with Legolas and Gimli all over again - only multiplied."

"They weren't the overly talkative type," Pippin added in a loud whisper, "what with the dwarves and all, but I think the elves had the same visitor."

Turning to Legolas with a bright grin, Buffy blinked innocently at him. "Do you think we should tell them that they were really visited by a Balance Demon?" she asked as she tried to decide whether she should beat the life out of the balance demon the next time they met for his usual duplicity, or else kiss him for his wonderful meddling.

"Nay, let them think what they may," Legolas countered, his melodious voice catching the hobbits' attention as they turned to him with bright smiles, their youthful eyes darting from the prince to Buffy, who stood out in comparison to her tall and ethereal companions, and back to their friend again.

"What's this, Merry? Has Legolas finally found a girlfriend?" Pippin demanded, his exuberant voice ringing over the other conversations and causing everyone to turn and take notice of the two for the first time.

Feeling her cheeks begin to burn, Buffy quickly stepped away from Legolas' side - wishing all the while that her slayer hearing wasn't so acute to catch the twins' snickering and Gimli's loud guffaws at their expense. Turning to glare at the trio, Buffy instead found a man's chest blocking her view as she arched her neck to meet Halbarad's annoyingly bright eyes.

"Dear _Lady_ Buffy, so good to see you again," he greeted, his voice booming in the quiet circle of friends as he dipped into an oversized bow that forced her to back up until she was once more flush against Legolas' side.

"Halbarad," Buffy returned dryly as she glowered at the ranger. "Still haven't showered, I see," she remarked, immensely enjoying the flush that crept over the ranger's travel-stained cheeks as omer took his place before her, the young king's eyes dancing.

"My lady, 'tis good to see you well once more," he stated as he dipped his head towards her in a nod that caused his tousled locks to tumble boyishly over his features.

"See me well?" Buffy parroted, her brow scrunching in confusion before she finally remembered where she had seen this man before. "Oh," she muttered, cringing at the hazy memories of her first and only trip to omer's golden hall in Rohan. It had been the morning following Vashnak's revelation about the devastating properties of her blood - the same morning that she had been abducted and spirited away to her own personal hell. "Yeah, about that time-" she stammered, but the young king brushed away her apologies.

"Think nothing of it. It warms my heart to see you in safe company once more," he returned graciously, yet despite omer's kind words, whatever mirthful spell had been woven at the reunion of old friends was shattered beneath this subtle reminder as the gravity of the situation was pressed upon the small group. "We encountered little resistance upon the East-West Road," he confided as he turned back to his fellow king, "and the elves spoke of no troubles within the woods of Ithilien."

"Our road, too, was unhampered," Imrahil added as Halbarad nodded his agreement.

"A fact that I find none too surprising," Aragorn admitted as he wearily turned and nodded towards his gathered men - all that remained of Gondor's proud army. Eyes dimming, the group looked upon a number that was halved from the night before. "Vashnak had already gathered his dark-elves and orcs upon us, attacking Osgiliath the night before last before we met them in battle just this past eve."

"We were almost too late," Imrahil murmured as he followed his king's gaze to those that remained of Gondor's proud army - men of all ages, and many of which who bore injury of some sort that they had taken in last night's battle. Yet injured or no, it was clear to all that the soldiers would fight for their king and country this night, or join their brothers and fathers who had already fallen in death.

"Almost, but not quite," omer stated, his voice firm as he squeezed Aragorn's shoulder. "Now tell us quickly about that which we face, for the light is fast fading and battle is in the air."

Nodding grimly, Aragorn beckoned his friends closer as their situation was explained. There was no time for meetings in which strategy could be decided. War was upon them, whether they were ready for it or not, and instead the great leaders were forced to do what they did best: they played to their strengths.

The Men of Gondor, while brave and steadfast in their dedication to fighting this war, had been decimated the night before in a battle that had taken many lives. Only half of their forces remained ready and able to do battle, and unfortunately, due to the even greater loss of their valiant steeds, the Men of Gondor would be fighting this night from the ground upon which they walked.

The Men of Rohan, however, moved as if their horses were an extension to their bodies. Their number totaled near one thousand, all war-hardened from the War of the Ring that had taken place only nine years past.

The soldiers of Belfalas were similarly numbered, their mounts weary from travel and yet still able to bear their riders into the coming battle. Like the Men of Rohan, those that fell under Prince Imrahil's rule carried both swords and shields - both of which they wielded with the experience of many battles fought.

The Rangers of the North, or the Dnedain, as they were known, sat tall upon their elven-bred horses with gray eyes that were hardened in expectation of fighting a darkness that they had battled for all of their many years. They were smaller in number than either Rohan or Belfalas, with only swords and daggers for their defense, yet their bedraggled appearance did little to hide the fire that burned within their steely gazes.

The Dwarves of the Glittering Caves were sturdy, hardy folk that were outfitted with throwing and battle axes that were evenly distributed over their compact forms. Loud and forthright they were, with small, dark eyes that bore out above beards that were long and braided with care. They would battle on foot that night, for no dwarf, save Gimli their Lord, would allow himself to be carried upon a horse's back.

Which of course left the Elves of Ithilien, and Buffy turned her eyes to them next. Tall and beautiful, they sat atop their horses with swords sheathed at their backs alongside quivers of finely crafted arrows, longbows draped over their shoulders. They, like the Rangers and Dwarves, numbered fewer than the others - perhaps five hundred strong - and yet of all, it was the Elves whose eyes burned the brightest this night.

The Dark-Elves, or _Mornedhel_, while an enemy to all free people of Middle-earth, were a foe that lay like a dark stain against the hearts of the Firstborn. The Orc had revealed for all to see its origins in that which had once been pure, and those who had been changed from Orc into Dark-Elf now wore a face and body that remained a brutal shock to the inherent goodness to be found in the Firstborn. This enemy not only wore their face, but it paraded before them and mocked them with shadowed eyes that revealed naught but darkness and the evil that stood against everything for which the Elves had been created.

Nodding curtly to show his support of the decisions that had been made, Halbarad turned to Buffy with knowing eyes where she stood uncertainly outside their small circle. "I assume that you will be joining us, my Lady?" he asked as he looked pointedly towards the sword that was sheathed upon her back.

"Of course," Buffy returned as her hand instinctively sought the garnet that was hidden beneath the lip of her leather halter, her eyes darting briefly towards Aragorn, hoping that they wouldn't have to suffer through a repeat performance of the argument from the night before. Yet she needn't have worried, for the king had more important matters to worry about as he turned from their small group to meet with what remained of his faithful captains.

"But... but she's just a girl!" a small voice exclaimed, causing Buffy to look down upon the two hobbits with narrowed eyes.

"So was owyn, you twit, and she killed the Witchking!" Merry growled as he rolled his eyes at his cousin.

Frowning, Pippin slowly nodded his head. "Good point," he allowed before smiling brightly at the petite slayer, whose height only topped his by a mere foot in comparison to his other taller companions. "So whose horse shall you be riding?" he asked unabashedly.

Grinning despite herself and the seriousness of the situation, Buffy turned questioningly to the elf at her side. "She shall ride with me," Legolas replied, reading the question in her eyes.

Scratching his head in evident confusion, Pippin turned to his cousin. "But Legolas always rides with Gimli," he muttered, his high voice unwittingly carrying to the dwarf in question. "If Legolas already has a passenger, who then will take Gimli?"

"I do believe that it is Elrohir's turn to take the dwarf," Elladan suggested, his eyes twinkling madly as Gimli's face turned a dark, mottled-red color.

"I'll be walking on my own two feet, thank you very much," Gimli stated. "A dwarf will be foisted on no elf like some unwelcome baggage."

"Now Gimli, you know full well that-"

"Master Brandybuck," omer quickly broke in, his lips twitching in amusement as he tried to speak over the argument that had erupted between the Lord of the Glittering Caves and the Lords of Imladris. "I would be most honored if you would consent to ride with me into battle once more. It has been too long since Firefoot and I have benefited from your company."

"But you just rode with him the whole road from Edoras to Minas Tirith!" Pippin protested, obviously fearing being left behind.

Smiling sympathetically at the small hobbit, Buffy was reminded of her own friends and their indignant protests at ever being left behind and their value overlooked. Then again, from what Legolas had told her of these small beings, the hobbits had come a long way from the timid, gentle creatures that first began their journeys with Frodo and the One Ring. They had been through glorious battles and had emerged victorious over frightening foes. They were even responsible for fighting back the men that had taken control of the Shire, helping to defeat the wizard Saruman once and for all, and all without the aid of their bigger friends.

A fact that Aragorn, too, seemed to remember as he turned to Pippin with a warm smile. "Master Took, would you do your king the honor of joining him upon his own valiant steed in the upcoming battle?"

"My lord," Imrahil cut in, his eyes intently searching those of his king. "You will join us in battle this night? But what of my nephew? Where is Faramir?" he demanded, worry lining his heavy gaze as he obviously noticed the steward's absence for the first time.

"Fear not," Aragorn quickly soothed. "Faramir is well and otherwise occupied with the birth of his fifth child."

For a moment a stunned silence fell upon the small group before omer whooped in a most un-kingly fashion and clapped Imrahil on the back. "My sister is in labor?" he asked, his eyes dancing in delight. "Lothriel will be so jealous to hear that I was able to see our newest nephew before her."

"Nephew?" Imrahil protested, his own features lightening considerably at the joyous news. "How do you know that it will not be a niece?" he countered in amusement.

"Because I already _have_ three nieces. My poor nephew, Boromir, needs a brother to help defend himself from his sisters' wicked ways. I swear that Finduilas is their ring leader and together they conspire against their younger brother."

"Nay, Finduilas is a gentle creature - much like her grandmother-"

Distracted from the fond bickering between the two noblemen, Buffy turned at the soft hand that rested upon her shoulder. "Legolas?" she questioned, her lips turning down in a small frown as she saw the uneasy confusion that shone in his sharp gaze.

"The free peoples of Middle-earth have joined with Gondor to see this new enemy defeated," he murmured, his soft words meant only for her ears.

"Which is generally seen as a good thing," Buffy returned, her frown deepening as she sensed the darkness that weighed upon the elf. "What's with the long features? This is the break that we've been looking for. I mean, with all of the reinforcements, we not only have a chance of surviving this night, but we may actually have a chance of _winning_ this thing."

"I know," Legolas admitted as he turned to his friends with critical eyes before his pensive expression cracked beneath a soft sigh. Quickly shaking his head, he forced a smile. "You are right."

"Of course I'm right," Buffy agreed, hoping her smile would mask her own unease at the foreboding that lingered in the back of her mind like a malevolent shadow. "I'm always right," she continued as she linked arms with the taller elf and began leading him towards where a small stable boy patiently waited with Drlum in hand. "What can I say? It's a gift."

* * *

The darkness on the Pelennor Fields was absolute, the black night lessened only by the flickering light of the torches that were scattered amongst the men and by the ethereal glow of the hundreds of elves that formed a long line before them. "Anybody else feeling much better about tonight than last night? Because I'm really feeling the better," Buffy stated with a bright grin as she patted Drlum's dark mane.

For the first time ever, the small slayer sat alone atop the large stallion, merely one amongst thousands of riders that swelled their ranks back to the very gates of Minas Tirith and as far as she could see to either side. The men of Belfalas and their lord, Prince Imrahil, were situated on the right flank while the Rohirrim and King omer with Merry Brandybuck were to her left. Behind her were gathered the mounted Dnedain, while behind them stood the soldiers of Gondor and the dwarves of the Glittering Caves who would be battling from the ground. And before them all, in a symmetry that was impossible to ignore, stood the elves of Ithilien, their bows nocked and ready against the line of dark-elves that faced them across a stretch of bloody land. Behind the _mornedhel_ Buffy knew an army of orcs awaited, as vicious and bloodthirsty as ever, but she couldn't seem to look past the line of dimly glowing elves that faced their dark brethren.

Legolas stood amongst his kin, Thoron to one side and a high-ranking captain on the other. Gimli, she knew, waited behind the Dnedain with his dwarven warriors, while the twins and Halbarad sat upon their steeds beside her. And before them was Aragorn, tall and proud upon his gleaming mount with a glistening circlet upon his brow, Pippin perched behind him. omer and Imrahil had deferred leadership to him, and Gimli and Legolas as well. Together, the men, dwarves and elves were united beneath his banner, ready to follow his lead into the coming battle. Buffy, a natural-born leader herself, understood this even without having seen him in battle. This was a man that had been born for great things. He had returned from the exile of his forefathers in order to unite a scattered nation against unimaginable evil, and he would lead them into victory this same night.

"Now, Legolas!" Aragorn commanded, his voice booming in the still night air.

Taking his cue, the fair-haired elf released his hold on his taut bow string, releasing his arrow into the black night sky. Following his lead, the elves of Ithilien released their deadly hail, a rain of hundreds of expertly crafted arrows falling in a wave upon those they opposed. Immediately the _mornedhel_ sent an answering volley that crested above the line of elves to fall in a torrent upon the mounted men that waited beyond, shields raised for protection.

"For Middle-earth!" Aragorn cried as he dug his heels into his horse's side, urging the beast forward and leading the charge through the line of elves and into the open abyss.

"For Middle-earth," Buffy whispered as horses thundered past her and Drlum, the ground shaking beneath them. "For Middle-earth," she repeated as a slow, confident smile lifted her lips. As chaos ruled the night around her, she was struck anew by the realization of how much change could be wrought in the course of one night. Twenty-four hours ago Buffy had been prepared to ride into a battle that she never expected to walk away from. Twelve hours later the world had been grim, only to be made grimmer when the people of Minas Tirith had turned on her in hopes of finding salvation, only to find death instead. Her blood had killed a man and once more her world had been falling apart - and only a few short hours later, that pain was soothed by the renewal of two friendships she had feared lost forever. That soothing balm was then strengthened when Legolas himself so freely offered her his support while vowing that never again would she be used for the blood she carried. Never again would she be someone else's tool.

In twenty-four short hours the world had turned upon its axis, and in doing so it had gifted them with the very real hope of a future that didn't include naught but pain and death.

"Let's get this party started," Buffy murmured as she tangled her fingers in Drlum's silky tresses, her eyes locked upon the thousands of horses that swept past the line of _mornedhel_. Breath catching in her throat, her body tensed, Buffy watched as the brave men, led by Aragorn, met the first grouping of orcs and smashed through them. "That's our cue," she muttered as Legolas and his elves ceased their fire for fear of hitting their own men and turned to beckon for their loyal mounts that awaited them.

"Drlum, _enni!_" Legolas called as Buffy bent over the horse's neck, her knees clenched tight against his flank as the powerful horse surged forward. Eyes locked upon the lithe being, the small slayer secured her position before reaching down to clasp Legolas' outstretched hand as she rode past, aiding him to swing up and before her in an acrobatic feat that would have left her shell-shocked if she wasn't so focused upon the battle ahead.

Now the true fun would begin.

* * *

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Buffy sidestepped the dark elf's lethal blow and countered with an elbow to the back of his head that sent the taller being stumbling forward. Pivoting on her heel, the small slayer swiftly followed, her sword held before her in a strong, two-handed grip as the lithe being recovered his balance and turned once more, unwittingly plunging straight into her sword point. Eyes lifting briefly to watch the light fade from his cold gaze, Buffy wrenched the sword from his chest and turned to seek out her next opponent.

As with the night before, the battle had stretched over countless hours already, the shadows of the deepest part of night miring the land in murky darkness. Once more Buffy felt her body wearying from the drain of continual battle, and yet the differences between this night and last were the kind that lent hope to her small frame and allowed her to keep fighting with a gusto that she hadn't experienced in far too long. Last night had been a massacre, but this night, with the Rohirrim, the soldiers of Belfalas, the rangers, the elves and the dwarves all helping the weakened men of Gondor... this night was a war in which her side actually stood a chance of winning. No, not just a chance - more like a certainty.

A smile creasing her dirty features, Buffy took a brief moment to cast her sharp gaze across the bloody Pelennor Fields. Many good men, elves, and dwarves had fallen this night in protection of their world, and yet even in the midst of chaos Buffy could see that this night the greater loss was on the part of the orcs that littered the uneven ground. While it was true that the _mornedhel_ were more deadly than their orc brethren, the fact remained that there were too few of the changed breed. The dark-elves numbered near one thousand, but the combination of men, elves, and dwarves surpassed that number many times over, and with the elves of Ithilien concentrating on the _mornedhel_, that left the men and dwarves to deal with the orcs they had been fighting for all of their lives. It was a hard, vicious, and trying battle, but one from which Buffy had the feeling that they would emerge victorious.

"Ooh, Merry, I got another one!"

Rolling her eyes as Pippin's exuberant voice carried over the sounds of battle, Buffy risked a quick glance to where the small hobbits battled alongside the group of loyal soldiers that never traveled too far from their king's side. Not that Aragorn needed their protection or aid. With an appreciative eye, Buffy watched as the older man expertly crossed blades with a dark-elf that moved swiftly and with the grace of the firstborn. With quick steps he matched the elf's fleet footwork, his sword catching the low light of the torches that his men had carried and which now lay forgotten upon the muddy field. Not only was this man responsible for uniting this land and holding it together, but he also had the fighting skills to prove that he had earned the winged crown he wore and the country he governed.

"Only one?" Merry returned as he dodged an orc's sword. "Why I've felled at least four orcs, and that was only in the past hour," he boasted as Buffy turned from the small hobbits to find that she had once more lost track of the elf with whom she had been fighting for the past few hours.

"Now where'd he go?" she grumbled as she lobbed off the head of an orc that was fleeing from several rather exuberant dwarves. Ignoring their disgruntled oaths, Buffy turned and scanned those fighting nearby, her frown growing as she found not a single blond head that didn't belong to a man of Rohan. Shrugging, she neatly sidestepped two dueling elves and moved deeper into battle, offering aid when it was needed while in search of her elusive companion. At one point she thought she glimpsed Halbarad's tall, dour frame, and quickly hurried in the other direction before he had a chance to spot her and offer his "aid." Yet it was in turning that she finally found a link to the elf that she was seeking.

"Where there's a Thoron, a Legolas usually isn't too far behind," she mused as she angled towards the older elf, her steps hindered by a rush of orcs that stampeded between her and the advisor, a small team of mounted Rohirrim herding the twisted creatures to where a group from Belfalas awaited. Yet when the mad rush cleared, Buffy saw nothing but a sole dark-elf in the stern elf's place.

Features tightening, Buffy hurried forward, vaulting over the bodies that lay where they had fallen, many piled three or four deep, their black or fair faces locked in grimaces of death. Clearing the corpse of someone's mangled horse, she landed lightly, facing the dark-elf as he raised his sword above him. Following the trajectory of his downward swing, Buffy finally found Thoron amongst the ruin, his body bloodied with his arm raised defensively before him.

"Oh no you don't," she muttered as she altered her course only slightly, throwing herself to her knees and sliding through the churned mud until she came to rest between Thoron and his would-be killer, her sword locking against the one that would have ended his immortal life. Grunting, Buffy arrested the dark-elf's swing and then pushed up, forcing him a step back and giving her time to regain her feet. Then the dance began anew as she parried his powerful strokes, metal clashing against metal until she tired of the game and ended his life in a spray of red blood. Turning, Buffy took a brief moment to assure herself that Thoron wasn't dead, her eyes catching his and reading the surprise found in those ancient depths before she turned away to continue her hunt for the elf's ward.

The battle was going well - amazingly well - and yet the sight of Thoron lying wounded and disarmed upon the ground served to remind her of the foreboding that she had all but forgotten beneath the rush of battle. Suddenly the desire to find her battle buddy was more important than rubbing in the fact that she had just saved Thoron's immortal life. She needed to find Legolas if for no other reason than to assure herself that her truest friend in this world was still alive and kicking dark-elf butt.

Then again, she should have known better than to ever trust in idle assurances.

Like a curtain parting before her, Buffy finally found Legolas amongst those that battled this dark night. His pale skin glowed brightly, causing his hair to shine like the sun as he moved with deadly grace amongst the carnage, opposing the one dark-elf that would forever haunt her sleep. "Vashnak," she muttered, the name a curse as the dark-elf waged war upon his fair-haired opponent.

No, that wasn't right, Buffy realized with a slowly blossoming smile. It wasn't Vashnak who waged war upon Legolas but the other way around. There was a deep-set hatred in the elf prince's normally gentle blue eyes, and he moved in circles around his opponent, his twin daggers finding more flesh than cloth. Unable to look away, Buffy couldn't help but wonder if Vashnak was now regretting when he had gutted the elven prince just a few days past. If the hard set to Legolas' jaw was any indication, _he_ certainly hadn't forgotten. Vashnak had gotten the better of him that day, but the difference was that day hadn't been a fair fight, and as Legolas was so aptly proving, in a fair fight, he clearly would emerge the victor.

Distracted by a flash of movement behind the two combatants, Buffy turned in time to watch one _mornedhel_ break from the other battles that continued to be waged without. She didn't even have time to call out a warning before the new arrival came to Vashnak's aid, drawing enough of Legolas' attention that the original _mornedhel_ was able to land a vicious blow that scattered Legolas' blades and left him defenseless upon the muddied ground.

Without thinking Buffy moved forward, the nameless dark-elf falling beneath her sword strike before she turned to Vashnak and Legolas - and felt the world crumble beneath the unmistakable tableau that was spread before her. It was a scene stolen straight from her dreams, with Vashnak lifting his bow and drawing arrow upon the fallen elf. She knew this scene - she knew how it began, but not how it ended - and while her scattered thoughts wondered on who in their right mind would use a bow in such close battle, her body was already moving as she stepped into the place that was first occupied by her mother, and later Arwen - directly between Vashnak's arrow and Legolas' heart.


	36. Chapter 36

**Equinoxium: Chapter 36  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Credit must also be given to Oliver Wendall Holmes for the quote that Legolas puts to good use towards the end of the chapter.

* * *

"Give it up! You've lost this!" Buffy ground out as she held her sword before her, her eyes locked with Vashnak's. It had been days since he had tried to spirit her away from Minas Tirith's protective walls, yet in those few days she had been transformed by the stone that she wore around her neck. Before she had been a victim, but now she was emboldened by the full strength and fury of a slayer - and she hadn't forgotten her promise to show Vashnak what a slayer was truly capable of. She was rejuvenated, and for the first time she faced him as she was always meant to.

"Perhaps," Vashnak conceded as his eyes intently searched her own, perhaps seeking a sign of the weakness that had plagued her for so long, "but your army cannot kill us all. Some will survive and they will return." His gaze narrowed upon her. "Tell me," he continued as something unreadable flashed in those dark depths, "do you still think that your blood has not restored all that Melkor robbed from us that day so long ago? Has the gift of immortality been returned to us? If it has, we now have all time in the world to finish what we have begun this night."

Feeling Legolas shift upon the ground behind her, Buffy curtly shook her head. "The blood of a slayer was never meant for this, and you're not going to use me again. I won't be your blood-fest to build back your ranks."

Something tightened in Vashnak's beautiful features - something alien and all at once recognizable. "We no longer need it," he returned, his voice dropping in timbre as his arrow never wavered from her heart and the elf that she protected. "All this battle has accomplished is to thin out the weak from our ranks. The strong will survive if for no other reason than to see the men and elves and dwarves destroyed."

"But why?" Buffy demanded as her heart began to hammer. She had hated this elf for so long when she had lived in his world which was steeped in evil, but here on the blood-stained fields before Minas Tirith where a war was being waged around her... suddenly she was reminded her own words spoken long ago, in a cave that was filled with fear and pain that was only lessened by the growing friendship of the elf she now protected: _Some people choose to see the world in black and white. I can't afford to._

"Because you were right at least in this," Vashnak stated, his eyes flashing. "There was one thing that your blood could not heal. Now stand aside," he ordered, his jaw tightening as he broke their gaze and turned towards the elf who had wisely stayed silent during this verbal battle. "I will have my reward in this-"

"Only if you shoot through me," Buffy dared as something within her began to tremble. Inexplicably she felt her dream rush upon her, her mother and Arwen's words taunting her: _he won't choose you. In the end, he won't choose you._ Is this what they meant? Was this finally the moment of which they had both warned? The silence between them thickened, and Buffy found herself captivated by the indecision that haunted his shadowed gaze. When she had been his prisoner she had seen the world in the stark contrast of black and white, but now she was reminded of the shades of gray that forever marked her life. There was something there - something in his gaze that reminded her less of a cold-hearted demon and more of someone tortured by their deeds and their past, and for one bright shining moment Buffy felt the black lessen into a shade of gray that she hadn't before noticed.

_Sometimes I think that life is all about messing up, often in the worst of ways, and then trying to find a way back from the dark places you've traveled._

"Vashnak," she murmured, the name sounding foreign as for the first time ever, there was no malice in her voice. "Vashnak, you don't have to do this," she whispered as she felt Legolas stir against her legs. "You don't have to-" she continued, her quiet plea muffled beneath the dark-elf's sudden snarl of rage. Startled, Buffy drew back against Legolas' downed form and then flung herself upon the fair-haired elf to shield him from Vashnak's arrow, only to realize too late that her actions were not needed as the dark-elf pivoted with the speed of the firstborn and released his arrow to their right.

A lone cry of agony followed that arrow's swift departure.

Eyes growing wide in confusion, Buffy felt the world slow as she and Legolas both turned towards that cry, their eyes moving past men and elves and dwarves until they rested upon a man who cupped his hands around the bloody arrow that quivered from his breast. "No," she whispered as the sibilant whispers of her dark dreams finally came clear, their warnings now unmistakable and far too late to prevent that which had happened. Again she saw the White Tree, first shining and majestic beneath the golden sun as she knew it to be in life, and then withered and dead as in her dream.

_"This is the White Tree, the symbol of Gondor... Many years after the line of Kings ended, the tree withered and died."_

"No," Buffy whispered again, her eyes turning past the man's pained features to the two startled hobbits that had remained at his side throughout the night's many long battles. The small creatures were stunned, their wide, disbelieving eyes locked on their friend... their king.

_"I fear Gondor would flounder and fall without him. Aragorn is the reason that Gondor exists and this country will not survive again without her king."_

"Oh please no," Buffy whispered as the man slowly looked up, his circlet hidden beneath his dark, tousled hair. His eyes, so dark and powerful, were now filled with pain and already they were losing their light as he looked past her and locked upon the anguished eyes of the elf that remained riveted beside her.

"Aragorn," Legolas whispered, the deep, soul-rending pain in that simple word causing Buffy's heart to break. Slowly, awkwardly he stumbled from her side, his gait at first uneven and then quickly gaining grace and speed as he fled to the side of his most precious mortal friend.

"While not the Prince of Elves, the King of Men is surely a worthy substitute."

Spell broken by Vashnak's caustic words, Buffy turned back to the dark-elf with fire burning in her eyes. Something within her had been warning her for days of the danger to Aragorn, and with it, to the people that he governed - and she had been blind to it all. Without their king, Gondor would fall. Without their king, the free peoples of Middle-earth would fall. And it was this creature, created from her own blood, that had loosed the arrow that had spelled their doom.

Silent and deadly in her fury, Buffy lifted her sword and quickly launched herself at the smirking dark-elf. Like a shutter lowering over a sun-dappled glass, the shade of gray she had glimpsed was forever lost beneath a smothering blanket of the darkest black. This was no battle, no duel, and no dance, for Buffy didn't even allow Vashnak the chance to throw aside his bow in favor of the sword that was plunged into the earth at his feet. Instead she threw herself forward and impaled the dark creature upon the edge of her gore-encrusted blade, her features cut from stone as she buried it into the soft cavity of his chest until the hilt was flush against his tunic. As though the mortal wound had pushed the air from his lungs, she felt his breath wash over her face as his fingers dug into her shoulders, his mouth flung open in an 'o' of surprise.

"Buffy?" he whispered, the word a soft plea as his legs buckled, the force of his death grip upon her carrying them both to their knees. But then the burning anger within her was gone as that indefinable thing surged forward to fill his eyes with such pain and longing that Buffy felt her cold fury melt back until she was an empty shell.

It was done and in this, at least, all was as it was meant to be.

"What will... what will happen to me?" Vashnak gasped as blood pooled in his mouth and bubbled past his thin lips. Transfixed, Buffy found herself unable to turn away. "Have you... have you restored all that was taken? Will I go to the elves' Mandos' Hall? Or will I... will I sink down into that dark place that Melkor has prepared for all of his creatures?"

"I don't know," Buffy murmured, her voice flat as she tore Vashnak's claw-like grip from her shoulders. "I don't know," she repeated as she turned away, stilling only as his hand grabbed her wrist in a bruising grip, demanding her attention.

"But you... you can heal me," Vashnak ground out as he looked down upon the gaping wound that poured his red blood onto the muddied earth beneath him. "You can heal me, as you healed your elven prince. You can make me whole."

"Not anymore," Buffy muttered before wrenching her wrist free and turning from the dying elf. "Not anymore," she repeated, her voice hard as she walked away. Yet she found no solace in the sight that lay before her as her keen gaze landed upon where Legolas crouched over Aragorn's still form from within a protective circle of men and elves. Her steps faltering, Buffy wavered before the frantic shouts of the men and the panicked cries of the small hobbits that hovered over the dying king. "So much death," she whispered as she turned away, not wanting to intrude upon their final moments with their friend. "So much pointless death," she whispered as she began heading towards the war that would not stop with the death of either leader.

"Buffy!"

Tensing at the strong hand that gripped her narrow shoulder, Buffy turned to find Elladan's distraught figure before her. "Buffy, Estel... Estel has been shot," the elf murmured as he slipped his hand down until it was wrapped around her small fingers, encasing her dirty, blood-stained digits in his warm grip. "The arrow is too close to his heart and he is dying," he quickly explained as he pulled her through the circle of men and elves until she found herself standing uncertainly within the eye of the storm.

"I know, Elladan," Buffy murmured, her heavy gaze dragging down until her saddened eyes were locked upon Aragorn's limp form. The proud man lay crumpled upon the muddy field, grasses tangled and matted beneath his dark head and his skin as white as the cold stars that twinkled so far above. His battle-stained clothes were sodden with the blood that drained from the arrow lodged in his chest, Elrohir's elegant hands wrapped firmly around the smooth wooden shaft as though hoping to stem the crimson wash. "I know," she repeated as her eyes inevitably lifted to the fair-haired elf that remained poised beside his fallen friend, his eyes locked on Aragorn's closed lids. Legolas' glow was dim - more dim than she had ever seen it, and Buffy clearly saw the grief that caused the elf to remain lost within his own inner turmoil.

"Then you know you must help him," Elladan persisted as he tugged Buffy forward until her toe grazed against Aragorn's boot.

"I - what?" Buffy demanded, snapping from her morbid inspection as she turned to the dark-haired elf in shock. "You've got to be kidding me! You saw what my blood did to that man earlier! It killed him!" she exclaimed as she pulled her hand from his as though burned, all the while wondering why his request shocked her so. She should have known this was coming - she should have seen it. And yet she hadn't, for Elladan was asking of her the one thing that Legolas had promised that she would never again have to do. Yes, her blood had healed before, but it had also killed. The blood of a slayer wasn't intended for this.

_"I understand now the power I have-"_

_"Do you?"_

_"How could I not? My blood is my own - it's what keeps my heart beating, my lungs pumping, and my thoughts spinning. I need my blood to live, but it has a power all its own. It gives me the power to build darkness. It gives me the power to kill."_

_"Then you haven't learned anything at all."_

"He will be dead even if you do nothing," Elrohir countered from his position beside his foster-brother, breaking Buffy from her tailspin thoughts.

"So don't let his death rest upon me!" Buffy retorted as she turned her glare from one twin to the other. They didn't understand. They didn't understand that each time someone took some of her blood, it was as though they took another part of her away forever. Her time trapped within Vashnak's stronghold had nearly defeated her, and each time another drop was taken it was as though another small part of her soul withered and died. And yet these twin elves couldn't understand this, so instead she found her gaze returning to the fair-haired elf that was so silent in his wasting grief. Legolas was her friend. He had promised-

"But Estel is not as normal men," Elladan argued, once more drawing her waning attention. "He is Dnedain; the blood of the firstborn runs through his veins."

When Buffy maintained her silence, Elrohir quickly took up his brother's plea. "At least give him a chance... he is our brother," he whispered as the full of his elven stare fell upon her, smothering her beneath ages of pain and loss.

Feeling the tears burn her eyes, Buffy forced her gaze away as she looked back upon Aragorn's ashen face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, hating the heaviness that dwelt within her. "I-"

"Buffy."

Startled, she turned to find Legolas slowly lifting his bowed head until his piercing blue eyes were locked upon her. She took a hesitant step forward, her heart hammering within her. There was something in his gaze that hadn't been there before - something desperate and wild. "Legolas, I'm so sorry-"

"Buffy, please help him."

Everything fell silent as Buffy stared at Legolas in wide-eyed horror. She knew that she should have expected this request from the twins who hadn't understood what they were asking, but Legolas knew. He understood her pain. He understood what each drop of blood cost her and yet it was his voice that had issued that one heartfelt plea. Pain ripped through her and she felt her knees begin to tremble as the one person who had vowed to stand beside her cast her away. "Legolas, don't ask this of me," she warned, her voice shaking as the tears streamed unbidden down her dirty cheeks. "Please, anything but this. You said... you said that-"

"I know what I said," Legolas whispered, and it was then that Buffy truly understood what betrayal meant. Legolas had been faced with the greatest of choices: one friend over another, and in the end it was no decision at all. What was the soul of a friend of only a few months in comparison to the life of his dearest mortal companion - a friendship that had been forged decades ago and which was so great that he had denied himself the bliss of Valinor in order to remain at that man's side? "I know what I said and I am sorry," he resolutely continued, "but I cannot lose him."

Eyes slipping shut as she felt something within her shatter into so many pieces - something newly mended and so very fragile - Buffy felt the last piece of the puzzle finally slip into place. Her mother and Arwen hadn't been warning her about Vashnak, after all.

_"When the time comes, he will not choose you."_

When the time comes, Legolas would not choose her - and he hadn't. They had been right, of course - for wasn't that the purpose of prophetic dreams? They warned her of what was to come, but the catch was that it was done in such a manner that she was hopeless to understand the warning until it was too late. The time _had_ come and Legolas hadn't chosen her. The friendship and hope which had carried her into this battle had been nothing more than an illusion, and without it she understood the rest of the elusive message.

_"You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you will be alone."_

"Arwen forfeited her immortality for a mortal life with this man," one of the twins persisted, which Buffy didn't know or care about, lost as she was in the darkness of the world she now lived. "Do not let her live it alone."

"We are all alone," Buffy returned, her voice flat as she finally opened her eyes to a world that now seemed dull and muffled. Woodenly she stepped forward, her hand wrapping around the hilt of her dagger as she quickly raised the blade and used it to slice open her wrist in the manner in which it had been opened hundreds of times in months past. Looking away as Elladan stepped forward, she refused to watch as the elder twin collected a small sampling of her blood in a flask that he carried, nothing more than a few drops, but more than enough to kill that much more of her withered spirit.

The elf mixed his poison with water to dilute the potency before he knelt beside his foster-brother, forcing the dying man to drink the tainted water. For a moment, she felt Legolas' eyes upon her, but then even that final gaze was turned away as the blood took effect and Aragorn began to scream.

* * *

As the King of Gondor began to convulse upon the ground, the men and elves came alive around him. The twins lifted their brother's body between them with the aid of a few soldiers and bore the thrashing man to Minas Tirith. Legolas, his heart pounding in his chest as the agonized screams of his friend echoed above the sounds of battle, quickly fell into step with the others. He remembered Aragorn's pain well, and yet his steps faltered as an image of Buffy's bitter, tear-stained face flashed before him. Aragorn needed him, and yet the betrayal and emptiness in Buffy's eyes made him realize that he may have lost two dear friends this night, and not just one.

Turning, he went to call for her - to bid her to follow them to the safety of the inner circle of Minas Tirith - but he found that she was gone, the ranks of those still battling having closed around her petite frame. His hurting heart clenching within his chest, Legolas turned, his eyes desperately seeking the small slayer as his soul became rent between the friend that was being borne ever more distant and the one that he had betrayed to save him.

"My Lord-"

"Thoron," Legolas gasped as he turned to his advisor with frantic eyes, taking quick note of the older elf's bloody tunic and the strength that still shone in his ancient eyes. "You must find Buffy! Aragorn needs me and I must go with them, but you have to find her and protect her - protect her with your life!" he urged as he began backing towards the men that carried Aragorn further away.

"But King Thranduil bade me-"

"_I_ am your king now," Legolas cut in, his eyes flashing, "and I order you to stay by her side and ensure that no harm comes to her." Pausing uncertainly, he looked again to the war that continued to be fought. "I promised that she wouldn't be alone," he murmured as he finally understood what Buffy had realized only moments before. He was the mysterious 'he' that her dreams had spoken of. He had betrayed her, he hadn't chosen her, and as a result, she was destined to be alone - to her very end. "Please, find her," he whispered before turning and hurrying after his friend.

Alone, Thoron watched his lord's agitated gait before turning back to the thriving, moving mass with a despondent sigh. Finding one small girl amongst so much turmoil would be like finding a needle in a haystack. "Thranduil, the things I do for you and your son," he muttered before turning and fording into battle.

* * *

The darkness was absolute and the barest light became fractured by the oppressive weight that she carried. Seven years she had been a tool that was used against the evil that hid in the dark shadows of her world. Seven years she had fought, sacrificed, and died - not for a world that didn't know or love her, but for the friends that had given her reason to get up each day and to survive each battle into which she entered. But that was a different world - a different past. She was no longer that person; no longer that tool. She was something new and horrible; something that took life and twisted it into something different. Her blood made monsters, killed men, and saved elves. Her blood had damned her soul... and yet it was her 'friends' that had destroyed her.

Legolas and the others had showed her that she could live again with this new weight and that they would help her to shoulder this burden. They had offered her hope and love and friendship when she had none, and she had greedily taken it all and allowed their gifts to buoy her flagging spirit. While the stone that she wore around her neck had restored the power to her limbs, it was the actions of Legolas and the others that had restored the part of her soul that she had thought lost forever... and that which made this blow all the more difficult to now bear. Impossible to bear.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Buffy struck at anything that moved, her sword hacking off limbs and driving through metal to pierce the flesh beneath. She wanted to make them hurt as much as she was hurting, yet with each killing blow Buffy knew that their pain could never match her own. She had already run the full gamut of physical pains in her short life, but nothing - nothing that she had ever experienced, including throwing herself into a swirling vortex of energy - nothing could compare to this. It felt as though she had just been pulled from heaven to find that she had already sent Angel to Hell, Faith into a coma, and her friends had abandoned her. It was the pain of her mom's unexpected death combined with the agony of losing all of her friends for forever. It was all of this and so much more because this time there was no one to lessen the pain - no one to fill the empty void their loss had created.

Nothing and no one.

She was alone, and just as she had always known, alone she was nothing.

Alone she was no one.

With no one to give her reason to go on, with nothing to give her something to live for to fight another day, she grew sloppy and all too soon Buffy realized that the death wish of all slayers, the one that Spike had spoken of long ago, had finally found her. She was powerful, she was deadly, but she was also hollow from all that had been torn from her. It took only one moment of inattention for the end to come.

Gasping as a fiery pain tore through her back and into her midsection, Buffy paused mid-strike as she looked down to find a bloody sword tip protruding from her abdomen. Confused, she felt her weapon slip from her nerveless fingers as she reached down and wonderingly touched the sharp tip of this foreign blade. The world was silent and still, another moment frozen in time as she struggled to understand what had happened - what this meant. The initial pain was gone and instead she was left in a breathless moment that stretched for an eternity. The anger had vanished, as had the despair, and all that remained was a soul-wrenching longing that tore her worse than the metal that protruded from her stomach in a gory spray of blood.

"Legolas?" she murmured, the name a choked whisper that all at once echoed with the emptiness that she in part had created as well as the surety that she didn't want this to be her end. She didn't want this to be her final moment on this world when she had last looked upon the fair-haired elf with so much betrayal burning within her. Legolas knew what his request would cost her, and yet ask it he had - but instead of understanding the depth of his need and selflessly giving what he desired, she had instead turned from him and willingly stepped into this cold void to face her end alone. "Leg-" she began again, the name lost beneath a pained cry as the blade was pulled from her back in the same manner that it was driven forth.

Gasping raggedly, Buffy tumbled first to her knees, and then to the ground as the pain surged forward, stealing her breath and causing spots to dance in her fuzzy vision. She felt light-headed and so weak, as if it was even too much work to close her wide, disbelieving eyes. Stunned, she was forced to watch as her nameless attacker's blackened feet shuffled past her to engage another enemy as her blood begin to pool beneath her leather-clad form.

_"Never give up when you still have something left to give, for it is never truly over until the moment that you stop trying."_

"Have nothing... no reason," she murmured, her breath causing a single, un-trampled blade of grass to quiver before her parted lips as her eyes fluttered shut. Yet something compelled her to open them again, and when she did she found her sister's pale face pressed against the ground before her, Dawn's large hazel eyes staring into her own.

_"Make choices that we can both live with."_

Swallowing heavily, Buffy felt her phantom sister's words cut far deeper than those of her watcher. His advice had been meant as encouragement for his slayer in troubled times, but her sister's words had been intended as a vicious slap to push her beyond her limits when she thought she couldn't possibly be pushed any further. It was the kind of brutality that was borne of the love of a sibling, and Buffy had already spent too many years making choices that had disappointed Dawn. She wouldn't continue that legacy now - not when there truly was something still left to fight for... if only she lived long enough to tell him that she had been wrong.

Slowly nodding her head from where her cheek was pressed against the cold ground, Buffy met her sister's eyes. "I will," she promised as she pushed herself up from the ground and away from the figment, wincing as the stab wound pulsed with every beat of her heart. Buffy felt the stone burn even brighter against her skin, replenishing the strength that was fleeing from her heavy limbs and rejuvenating her, and with her renewed power came the passion that had abandoned her.

Eyes flashing with the fiery heat that burned from the stone around her neck, Buffy reached down and reclaimed her sword, her expression determined. "This is a decision that we would both be able to live with," she ground out as she launched herself at an orc that was bearing down on an injured Gondorian. With an inarticulate cry of rage, Buffy struck at the hapless creature, hacking it limb from limb before turning away with nary a glance at the wounded man, her injured body humming as it tried to repair injuries as quickly as she received them.

For time uncounted she fought battle after battle, waging war upon everything that came near as she struggled against the predictions of her dreams. But her doom came as her wounds began to outnumber the strength of Willow's stone, and as a dark-elf got past her weakened defenses to lay her bare from shoulder to hip, his sharp blade slicing through leather, skin, muscle and tissue - and the leather cord that tied her to the magic that had carried her through the past few dark days.

Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Buffy dropped, and she dropped hard, her body rebounding off the many bodies that were scattered below her before she finally found her resting spot draped over the carcasses of an orc and the man that had killed it before finding his own demise, her face pressed beside his. In that instant Buffy felt her previous weakness rush back upon her threefold, coupled with a fiery wave of agony that threatened to bury her as each breath became labored and as blood poured from her grisly wound to soak both her and the bodies upon which she lay.

_"The time is coming, and when it arrives you will have no place amongst them. You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you will be alone, for he will not be there for you."_

With these words haunting her increasingly scattered thoughts, Buffy's eyes fluttered closed and the world went dark.

For how long she drifted, she couldn't be sure, but when she next awoke it was to a silence that was interrupted only by the screams and cries of the wounded and a darkness that made her question if her eyes were truly open. The pain was growing less now, and her body cold, and somewhere she felt fear at this thought. The First Slayer told her that death was her gift, and she had tasted this gift twice over, but somehow she thought that she didn't want to know that path again. She tried to move - tried to shift her body in order to prove to her failing mind that it still existed - but even that proved too much as there was weight above her that pinned her upon her bed of death and gore. And then... then there was darkness once more as she became lost to the waking world.

Dark paths she tread, shadows and sibilant whispers of things that she couldn't understand haunting her every step. There was the chill breath of Death following her, with nothing but darkness before and behind her. It was an empty void of pain and loss - a hollow place where not even the spirit of the First Slayer could stave off that which hunted her. But then that darkness began to lighten, the black turning to gray and slowly Buffy realized that she no longer walked the dark paths but instead lay unmoving upon a stiff body, her eyes open and locked upon the unseeing eyes of the face that was pressed against her own, the man's skin cold and unyielding against her flushed cheek.

Her thoughts were moving sluggishly, but Buffy thought that this hell was perhaps worse than the darkness in which she had been hiding. This hell brought pain and suffering and no relief to the agony that ripped her body and soul. But then she was reminded of what had torn her from that dark abyss as she again felt the weight that had been holding her down shift above her. This movement of weight caused the pain to flare anew, and Buffy cried out as hot needles jabbed viciously into her skin. Whimpering, she felt the weight shift again and then it disappeared altogether as she felt small, soft hands grip her shoulders before gently tipping her to the side, her world turning topsy-turvy as a small voice yelped excitedly. Battling a sudden bout of nausea, Buffy slipped her eyes shut and waited for the movement to stop as the voice's exuberant cries abruptly fell silent beneath a gasp of dismay.

Bracing herself, Buffy licked dry, cracked lips and opened her eyes to reveal a world that was murky and gray, a young, familiar face hovering above her. It was a hobbit, she realized, her eyes slowly moving over small features that were sooty and dirty, with a cut above his eyes that was covered with caked blood. "Pippin?" she murmured, the word a breathless question that was so soft she feared she hadn't spoken at all, but the hobbit's face fractured into a small, encouraging smile that somehow made his tearful gaze all the more sad.

"Lady Buffy, I... we... we have been looking everywhere for you," the hobbit murmured as he forced a bright smile, the expression twisting his features into something garish and pinched. "The battle is over and we have won," he continued as one tear broke free to splash upon her cold cheek. "The orcs and dark-elves have scattered and run back to their holes."

Trying her best to return the hobbit's smile, Buffy's eyes slipped shut once more. She was so tired and somehow this darkness was better than seeing a world that grew more gray with each passing moment. She wanted nothing more than to slip away, but there was something she still had to do, and somehow she knew that her lassitude scared the small being. She felt his hands tighten on her arms as he cried out once more - this time a name that she knew well.

Encouraged, Buffy forced her eyes open just as Pippin's face disappeared to be replaced by the one she had most longed to see again - the one for which she had been waiting. Comforted by his presence, Buffy felt his arms encircle her, lifting her from her hard bed and pulling her close so that she was cradled in his arms. Even now he smelled of rain and wind and tree, and she felt a slow smile lift her bloodied lips. The pain was less now, and she was thankful for the small respite as she looked into his frantic blue eyes.

"Buffy, I-"

"Is he... is he okay?" Buffy whispered, overriding Legolas' anguished words as her scattered thoughts jumped to the man who was king. There was some question that she had meant to ask. Some knowledge that she needed before... before the darkness came again. She needed to know- "Is he dead?"

Graceful lips stretching into a tremulous smile that soothed her aching heart, Legolas cupped her cheek in his hand. "The king is well," he assured. "You healed him."

With these softly uttered words, Buffy felt the last of the tension ease from her hurting body. Was this what she had needed, then? "Good," she murmured as her eyes slipped shut, once more encasing her in darkness.

"Buffy? Buffy!" Legolas whispered, the fervent plea in his words calling her back. "Buffy, I'm so sorry I-"

Minutely shaking her head, Buffy struggled against the darkness as she forced her heavy eyes to open. Breathing raggedly, she wished to lift her hand and brush away the tears that streaked down his dirty face, but her hand was too heavy and all she could do was allow him to see the peace that shone within her darkening eyes. "Shh... s'okay," she whispered, forcing the words past lips that were growing more resistant to her efforts. It wasn't right to see tears upon his face, nor to see such despair in his blue eyes. "I helped today," she murmured with a careless grin, hoping that in these small words he would understand everything that she didn't have the strength to say. And as the full of his stare fell upon her, she felt all of her barriers fall away as he peeled back the layers to see the understanding that she had reached, and the forgiveness that he sought. "I'm glad," she murmured, one final time before darkness claimed her.

* * *

The day was bright and beautiful, the land covered in a blanket of green as the trees reached their leafy boughs to the cloudless blue sky. The sun shone down bright and hot, drying the rain from the night before and causing the flowers to shoot from the earth with bright blossoms of color. The smells of spring and rain and fragrant flowers and trees wafted on the warm breeze, and the buzzing insects and the rustling of the trees created a comforting cadence that soothed Legolas' mind as he stood upon the high talan that marked the edge of the colony in Ithilien.

His long golden hair was braided away from his face in neat, even knots that drew the strands above his pointed ears, and his soft, clean clothing was almost luminescent in the sunny light. Gone now were all marks of battle and war, of hurt and loss, and he held himself as befitting a noble lord who ruled over his people, a slender circlet of the purest mithril perched upon his brow. He was everything that a prince and lord should be, and even his features, ageless and beautiful in the golden light, hid well the turmoil that roiled in his sharp blue gaze as he watched the small group that was slowly departing his beloved woods.

Elladan and Elrohir led the small party of elven warriors, their voices lifted in joyful song to the beautiful spring day, and as the group passed outside the outer limits of the elvish colony, Legolas silently bid each warrior safe journey and luck in the coming hunt. It should have been no surprise that out of all, it was the elves that felt the most responsibility for the new evil that walked in their world. The _eldar_ and the _mornedhel_ shared a past that was twisted in darkness, and their creation gave one more reason for many an elf to remain on these shores, forgoing the bliss of Valinor until the dark race was wiped from this land. Yet inevitably, as always, he found his gaze lingering on the one who traveled with them, her eyes bright and her hair lying unbound and golden down her back as she confidently moved her large mare down the gentle path.

"She will be back," Aragorn murmured from beside him as the king clasped his shoulder in a strong, reassuring grip.

Smiling sadly, Legolas nodded his agreement. "Some trees grow tall and straight in the forest close to one another, but others must stand by themselves or they will not grow at all," he noted as he watched her tip back her golden head, her laughter mingling with the elves with whom she traveled.

"Besides, the twins will see that she comes to no harm," Aragorn offered in an obvious attempt to lighten his friend's heart.

"As will Thoron," Legolas added as he nodded to where the older elf rode beside the small slayer. "I've ordered him to ensure that she never leaves his sight," he explained as Aragorn chuckled quietly beside him.

"I cannot imagine that he was too delighted with this assignment," the king returned. "Elladan and Elrohir have regaled me with tales of their feuds."

"Actually, it was his idea to go," Legolas admitted with a small shrug. "Thoron almost failed me when I had last given him this task, and he has vowed that he will not do so again."

Eyes widening slightly at this subtle reminder of that ill night so many months before, Aragorn nodded in agreement. "Further proof that some good did come of all this," he murmured, his own thoughts turning to the small slayer that traveled comfortably amongst the elven warriors. The wounds that she had sustained that night had been grievous, and were it not for her slayer stamina and healing abilities, there was no doubt in his mind that she would not have survived the coming days. As it was, many months passed as winter slowly turned to spring before all of her wounds had healed and her strength was finally returned. Yet by that time, after all that had happened in Minas Tirith, it had become painfully obvious that she didn't belong with the men of this world, and so instead Buffy had finally found her place amongst the elves - the one race that shared her passion and drive for ridding the world of that which her blood had created. She wouldn't rest until the entirety of the foul race was destroyed.

"Yes, some good," Legolas agreed as a small, enigmatic smile lifted his narrow lips and as Buffy turned back, her eyes catching and holding his until her large mare carried her from sight.

From another place in the peaceful woods, one other person watched this goodbye with a smile. While he was quite sure that this wasn't what Buffy had in mind, even he had to admit that she had finally found the place where she belonged and the peace that she so aptly deserved. "Be happy, Kid," he murmured as he tipped his green bowler hat in the direction where the small, fiery slayer had disappeared. "You've earned it."

**_~fin~_**

**Author's Note Cont:** A round of applause that knows no end must first go to Nightwing for joining me on this adventure and for correcting hasty mistakes and smacking me when I got too lazy. She always pushed me for more and I'm sure much of this story would have been sub-par if it were not for her. After all, this story has truly been a work of love, ever evolving and changing as personal events have shaped the course of my own life. Thank you to everyone who has been there from the very beginning, and to those of you who have joined us along the way. This story would have fallen to the side long ago if it had not been for your encouragements, comments, and pushes when the way become lost. This is also the point where I, as usual, beg, plead, and ask very nicely for _everyone_ to take a moment and send a review, even if you always send one or never have before, and let me know what you thought of the story as a whole. Did you like it? Love it? Despise it? _Why?_ I always take each and every one of your comments to heart, and they have always helped to shape what comes next - not to mention that it's the final huge reward for a writer, and one that I'd appreciate after all of the time and work this project took! So please review away!


End file.
